


Stitch Comes Loose

by queenpenthesilea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain Marvel (2019), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Avengers Movie Night, Awesome James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Grey's Anatomy References, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, M/M, Medical Jargon, Medical Procedures, Precious Peter Parker, Pride and Prejudice References, Soap Opera, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark-centric, but he didnt really mean it, harley keener is a precious bb who should be protected, stephen strange was kind of an ass, the avengers are gossiping old biddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-06-09 15:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenpenthesilea/pseuds/queenpenthesilea
Summary: Ten years ago, Tony decided he was tired of taking lives and instead wanted to save them, so he went back to school - medical school to be exact. Now, he's working at the Avengers Institution, a hospital that was lovingly dubbed No Mercy West by its employees, and he's happier than he's ever been.Except that the new guy, an ego-driven neurosurgeon whose behavior is better described as 'Rude' than 'Strange', is really getting on his last goddamn nerve, and his dad has decided to pay attention to him again. What's a genius-surgeon-philanthropist to do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooooo dear readers. As some of you who have read my other words may remember me mentioning in notes/comments, I'm a medical student. So this work was borne out of me getting super bored in general pediatrics clinic last week and thinking 'hmm I wonder which type of doctor each of the Avengers would be?' and now here we are, because I have no self control and turned a random thought into a 6 chapter fic D:
> 
> Right, so, heads up for some medical jargon/abbreviations, for anyone who might be unfamiliar. I grew up in a medical family, so I’m not sure which of these are common knowledge and which of these are more ‘specialized’, so I’ll try to keep an updated list of the one’s I’ve used at the beginning here to avoid confusion!! This is not me thinking any of y'all aren't capable of figuring these out on your own, this is just me literally having no idea what normal people who didn't grow up surrounded by all this would know and not wanting anyone to be confused.
> 
> AMA = against medical advice (or advanced maternal age, depending on context)  
> PA = physician’s assistant  
> OR = operating room  
> ER = emergency room (+ ED = emergency department)  
> APN = advanced practice nurse
> 
> I tried not to get super technical with anything, but def let me know if my writing gets too irritatingly 'medical' at any point! And also lmk if y'all want me to explain anything more clearly!!

It had been a bad morning.

Tony stormed out of the room, only just managing to keep himself from slamming the door behind him. “Get the discharge paperwork in for room 3. Make sure they sign the form for leaving AMA,” he snarled at the nurse, who gave him a sympathetic look before scurrying away. He knew he’d feel bad later for snapping at someone undeserving, but he’d been goaded beyond his capability to keep his temper in check by the parent in that room, which was why he’d exited so abruptly. 

And his nurses knew, at this point, that parents who didn’t take proper care of their children when they had ample opportunity always made Tony _batshit_ , just like they knew he’d regret taking out his anger on them later. One of his favorite nurses, Friday, had told him in her amused lilt that it was one of the reasons they liked working with him so much – he cared enough for his patients to be angry on their behalf and respected his nurses enough to apologize for his misplaced wrath.

And this mother had pushed all his buttons to the point that he’d just lost it. She’d clearly been more concerned with her own convenience than the health of her child. But the kid’s health wasn’t in immediate danger, so he couldn’t override her decision – he had to let them leave if that’s what she wanted, even though he knew it would cause the child significant distress down the line.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he growled when he’d finally found a hallway that was empty, throwing his back against the wall with a thump and burying his face in his hands. He rubbed his face, wishing he could rub the anger away with the movement.

It had been _infuriating_ , dealing with that mother, and no amount of explaining, educating, _pleading_ on behalf of the child had helped. Tony had lost his temper a little at the end, trying to explain to the mother why her choices were _harmful_ , which had resulted in the mother yelling in his face, which had, in turn, frightened the child into tears. It was at that point that Tony knew he’d lost, had curtly told the mother he’d send in the nurse to discharge them and left the room – but Tony knew that mother and child would be staying in his thoughts for a while.

Blessedly, his clinic was over for the morning, though, so he pushed off the wall and stalked down the hall towards the doctor’s lounge.

“The prodigal son returns!” Rhodey crowed as Tony pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was stretched out in his ceil blue scrubs on the faux-leather couch, remote to the TV in hand, though Thor was eyeing it like he intended to snatch it while Rhodey was distracted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled, tossing himself down between the two.

“Rough morning?” Steve asked sympathetically from his spot on the other couch, one eyebrow raised, and Tony grunted. 

“What happened, friend?” Thor asked, chest rumbling beside him, and Tony gave a small shrug.

“Little kid needed care. Mom said she didn’t want the kid to have that care. They left,” Tony answered shortly, and Rhodey made a noise of sympathy.

“That’s rough, man,” Clint said sympathetically, coming to flop down next to Steve with the coffee he’d retrieved from the lounge coffee station in hand, and Tony just sighed tiredly.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Anyway, what’s new with all of you?”

Clint perked up immediately. “I hear Steve has some news on the long-lost-best-friend-strikes-up-an-illicit-romance front,” he chirped, and Steve groaned, leaning over to punch him on the arm. “Ow! Jesus, Steve!”

“I didn’t hit you that hard.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Not that hard? I’m gonna have a bruise! What they say about you ortho people being cavemen is true,” Clint grumbled, rubbing his arm.

“Watch yourself,” Thor intoned dangerously, though a smirk tugged at his lips. Steve and Thor were their little group’s two orthopedic surgeons, and both of them were proud to be the poster children for the ortho stereotype: big, buff, and ‘brainless.’ (The two were _clearly_ annoyingly smart, but everyone knew ortho liked to pretend idiocy so they didn’t have to deal with rote patient care and could instead focus on hammering and sawing away at bones, or whatever it was that they liked to do in their OR. The pair shamelessly admitted it, after all.)

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint waved Thor’s pseudo-threat away easily, refocusing on Steve. “So – dish, man.”

“First of all, Bucky says he and Sam aren’t even a _thing_. And second, even if they were, I don’t understand what’s so _illicit_ about it!” Steve protested, and the entire room made incredulous noises.

“Dude, if _Bucky_ says he and Sam aren’t a thing, that _totally_ means they’re a thing,” Rhodey argued immediately, earning a look of betrayal from Steve.

“Fine, but even so – there’s nothing _illicit_ there,” Steve countered, folding his arms, and Clint snorted.

“Okay, maybe not _technically_ \- they definitely aren’t breaking any rules, but Buck’s an ER doc and Sam is his nurse, sooooo? It just, like, _seems_ illicit, man,” Clint disagreed with a smirk. The sound of the door opening had interrupted him halfway through, and a sarcastic drawl answered his statement before Steve could.

“Seriously? You bunch of old biddies are in here _gossiping?_ ”

“Carol!” Clint greeted her happily, turning to beam at the unimpressed-looking blonde. “Glad you could make it! How’s Maria?”

And Carol’s unimpressed expression quickly blanked out, which was as much of an admission as shouting it from the rooftops would be from anyone else. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said flatly, and Clint gave her a shit-eating grin.

“Maria? Your PA? Dark hair, dark eyes? Flowers bloom in her wake? Sunbeams shoot out of her ass? According to _you_ last weekend, at least,” he clarified sweetly, and Carol glared at him.

“You are not allowed to hold things I’ve said while drunk against me, Clinton,” she hissed, stabbing a finger at him, and Tony snorted.

“Might wanna back off there, buddy,” he advised. “I’ve been on the wrong end of the teasing-Carol-too-far scale, and trust me when I say she earned the nickname Warbird.” Carol smirked at him, inclining her head at him.

“Listen to the wise master, youngling,” she said, moving towards the coffeemaker. Clint groaned exaggeratedly.

“Ugh, I _knew_ we shouldn’t have let Stark pick the movie last movie night. You’re all gonna be making Star Wars references and everyone’s gonna know we’re a bunch of fucking nerds.”

“Does anyone _not_ know that?” Thor asked curiously.

“Only in Clint’s head,” Rhodey replied. 

“Not true, some people haven’t spent enough time around us to figure it out,” Clint argued, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“You’re not helping yourself here, Clint,” he said.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Clint stressed, looking harassed, even though Tony would argue he was the one doing most of the harassing. “Yes, Carol, we are gossiping, and _because_ we are gossiping, I think it’s time to move the conversation along into discussing the fresh meat.”

“Fresh meat?” Steve echoed, looking confused – and, for once, he wasn’t the only one. Clint looked back and forth between all of them, mouth open in apparent shock.

“Really, guys? You haven’t heard about our newest acquisition?” he asked incredulously, then flopped back into the couch cushion looking distraught when the others shook their heads no. “I’m with a bunch of novice information-gatherers. Truly boring people.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just nosy,” Tony told him conspiratorially, and Clint shot him a dirty look, leaning forward and clearing his throat dramatically as Carol rejoined the fray, standing at the end of one of the couches, downing coffee like peoples’ lives depended on it – which, considering that she was a trauma surgeon, was possibly true.

“You people,” Clint said sniffily, “are simply too self-involved. I choose to look outside of myself.” There were groans all around at this, but Clint held up a hand imperiously. “Which is _why_ I’m the one who knows all about the new guy, and you’re all in the dark.”

More eye rolls, but Rhodey eventually begrudgingly asked, “New guy?”

Clint beamed triumphantly. “New guy,” he confirmed. “Dr. Stephen Strange, a new neurosurgeon here at No Mercy West.” It had become their inside joke over the years, to call the place No Mercy West, poking fun at the hospital name and referencing a delightfully terrible medical show all in one – because whoever had decided that naming a hospital the Avengers Institute was a good idea clearly had a fucked sense of humor, so they might as well piggyback off it. 

“We got a new neurosurgeon?” Thor asked. “Why?”

“I think one of ours quit,” Steve responded.

“I heard he was fired,” Carol countered, brow furrowed.

“I heard he caught some sort of really bad virus after he wandered into Banner’s pathology lab and had to retire,” Rhodey said, and everyone looked at him. He shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true. Banner doesn’t talk to _me_.”

And then everyone’s eyes slid to Tony, who held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, just because Brucie Bear and I are buds doesn’t mean he tells me everything.”

“Natasha would probably know,” Clint muttered, looking thoughtful, and Steve nodded and shuddered a little.

“That woman knows everything,” he agreed. 

“Indeed,” Thor said gravely. There was a moment of silence and a collective group shudder at the thought of the small, terrifying psychiatrist. Don’t get them wrong, they loved her dearly – but they were all smart people, they hadn’t made it through med school for nothing, so they knew their best bet was to show a healthy fear of the redhead.

“Anyway,” Clint interrupted, breaking the spell. “Back to the new neurosurgeon. So I’m guessing you guys haven’t seen him yet?”

“Sure haven’t,” Rhodey agreed. “Spill, man.”

Clint grinned, happy to acquiesce. “So the dude is definitely hot. He’s, like, really tall – like Steve, but not as muscular, more of the slim-n-fit kind of tall, ya know?”

“Does it feel a little creepy that Clint’s looked that closely to anyone else?” Steve wondered aloud. Everyone ignored him.

“He has the same facial hair thing goin’ for him as Tony,” Clint continued as though Steve hadn’t spoken. Clint shot him an assessing look. “Same ego as Tony, too.”

“Hey!” Tony protested, Rhodey snorting beside him.

Clint tapped his chin thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off Tony. “In fact, he’s probably about as sarcastic as Tony. Yikes, wow, okay new prediction – Strange and Tony are either gonna get along like a house on fire or hate each other instantly.”

“I hate _you_ instantly,” Tony grumbled, and Clint grinned at him innocently.

“No, you don’t.”

“Do.”

“Fine, whatever, I’m still not wrong.” Clint waggled his eyebrows at Tony. “Based on what I saw and heard, you two are pretty much the same – top of your field, mean but somehow the nurses still like you, questionable music interests, basically made entirely of sass and one-liners?”

“ACDC is perfect, I’ll have you know,” Tony sniffed, pushing himself to his feet, crossing his arms, and pouting. “And I didn’t come here to be insulted. I’m going back to clinic, where they love and respect me.”

Rhodey snorted, and Tony glared at him until he shrugged sheepishly. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he left with as much dramatic flair as he could muster, feeling inexplicably lighter despite Clint’s ribbing. Their little (re: honestly pretty large) group was an odd mash up of doctors from multiple different fields, and Tony could never say exactly how they’d all come together – but they _worked_ , somehow. It was almost like a family, having started out with responsible mom-figure Steve, semi-responsible dad-figure Thor, wine aunt Natasha, weird uncle Bruce, and petulant kids Tony and Clint. Then they’d added fellow petulant children Bucky and Sam, vodka aunt Carol, fake-responsible cousin Rhodey, and disapproving grandmother Pepper – or, that was how Tony saw it, at least. Not that he’d ever tell any of them that – he knew better than to ever refer to their hospital administrator as a ‘grandmother’ if he liked his dick where it was, which he did.

But his head was fair game, and he liked holding claim on their family-by-choice.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed as he waltzed back into his clinic, smiling at his nurses seated at the clinic entrance, whose expressions mirrored what he’d bet was their pleasure that he was in a better mood.

“Hey, Boss. Your first three patients are roomed already. Ready to get started?” Friday asked, standing and stepping up to him first, clipboard in hand, and Tony nodded, falling into step beside her as they strode towards room 6 while she read off the history. “Harley Keener is a 7-year-old male with hypoplastic left heart syndrome who presents today with – “

“Harley’s in today?” Tony interrupted, delight sweeping through him. Friday raised an eyebrow at the disruption, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Yeah, he’s here for a checkup. You want me to go through his history?”

“Nah, I know it,” Tony dismissed with a broad grin. Stepping up to the door, he disinfected his hands and knocked three times rapidly, pushing the door open. “I hear we’ve got trouble in town today,” Tony announced loudly as he stepped inside, Friday slipping in after him and shutting the door. Harley was sitting on the starch-white sheets of the bed, grinning happily at Tony – but Tony could tell immediately that things weren’t going well, eyes falling on the blue tips of the boy’s fingers, the tired slump of the shoulders, the increased effort the kid was making to breathe, the swelling in his legs. But Tony kept his expression smooth and welcoming, turning his smile on Harley’s mother, who was sitting on one of the cushioned chairs in the corner, caught between eyeing her son worriedly and forcing a smile at the doctor.

“’m not trouble, Mr. Tony!” Harley protested vehemently, and his mother tutted.

“Harley, honey, it’s _Dr. Stark_ \- we talked about that, remember?”

Tony smiled easily at her, waving the concern away as he crossed the room to stand by the boy beaming up at him. “No worries, Mrs. Keener, we’re _pediatrics_ cardiothoracic surgery here, we don’t stand much on formality.” Tony took a seat on the stool, rolling the chair up to the computer in the room and quickly tapping in his log-in information. Turning back to Harley with a smile while the computer worked to log on, Tony asked, “So how are we doing today, little man?”

“Good!” Harley chirped. “Mama let me test out my potato gun in the yard this morning. It launches _really far_!”

“That so?” Tony said with a grin as the computer dinged its success at logging on. He turned his attention back to the computer to pull up Harley’s chart – and the rest of his response was lost at the sight that greeted him on the screen. Tony’s heart dropped, eyes raking over the workup that had been done on check-in, fixating on the high BNP and the findings on chest x-ray, both of which served to support what he had already guessed: Harley was in heart failure.

“Dr. Stark?” Mrs. Keener asked, worry tinging her voice, and Tony quickly schooled his expression into something more reassuring. “Is everything alright?”

Steeling himself for an unpleasant conversation, Tony turned away from his computer to give Harley and his mother his full attention. He met their eyes, and Harley, who had been almost vibrating with excitement about his potato gun triumph, sobered, a serious expression looking out of place on his young face.

“Harley, how have you been feeling lately?” he asked.

“Fine,” Harley answered quickly, and Tony gave him a stern look.

“Remember what we said about being honest so we can keep you healthy?” 

Harley looked abashed. “I’ve been a lil tired ‘n stuff. But I’ve been playin’ a lot too!”

“Mhmm,” Tony hummed. “Have you been having any trouble catching your breath, munchkin?”

Harley fell silent mutinously, so his mother piped up, her tone worried. “He has,” she confirmed. “He’s been having trouble breathing even when he’s just sitting still.”

“Have not,” Harley muttered, but Tony raised an eyebrow at him and he subsided.

Tony took a deep breath. “Remember after his last surgery, we talked about how it might not be a permanent fix?” Harley and his mom nodded. “Unfortunately, that seems to be what’s happened here. We’ve done all we can with his heart condition – all three surgeries have been completed, but his heart just isn’t holding up to the strain. He’s going into heart failure.”

Harley’s mom covered her mouth, but Harley just tilted his head at Tony. “What’s that mean?” he asked, and Tony turned to him with a small, gentle smile.

“It means your heart’s having to work too hard and can’t keep up with you, little man,” he said, meeting Harley’s big, curious eyes. “It’s why you’ve been feeling so tired and out-of-breath – your heart isn’t doing what it’s supposed to.”

“So what do we do?” Mrs. Keener asked, and Tony moved his gaze to her. “Another surgery? You said the fount – font – uh – “

“Fontan,” Tony supplied helpfully.

“That. You said that was the last in the series,” Mrs. Keener finished, peering at him questioningly, and Tony nodded.

“Yes, that was the last part to that. And now that the Norwood-Glenn-Fontan series is complete, essentially the left ventricle isn’t being used anymore, so the right ventricle is the only one pumping blood out to the body. It puts a lot of strain on the right ventricle, and Harley’s heart can’t handle it any longer, so it’s failing. Unfortunately, there’s not a procedure that specifically fixes that. The way forward from here is – it’s a heart transplant.”

Mrs. Keener’s eyes widened in dismay at his words, but Harley just looked on, slightly confused, not understanding the magnitude of what it meant to need a transplant – or the hopelessness that could accompany a lengthy wait on that list. 

“That’s it, that’s the only option?” Mrs. Keener asked, and Tony nodded, apologetic and trying not to show his own disappointment with the outcome.

“I’ll submit him to the transplant board so they can decide whether or not to put him on the list. They will,” Tony reassured her before she could say anything. “It’s just a part of the process. Once he’s on the list, there’ll be an evaluation for where on the list he should go. Then it’ll just be a matter of waiting until a heart comes available for him.” 

“How long will that take?” Mrs. Keener asked, and Tony shook his head, hating that question – mostly because he doesn’t have an answer.

“Impossible to say,” he said, noting the way Mrs. Keener’s face fell. “It depends on a lot of outside factors. Could be a week, could be a few years.”

“And if Harley worsens in the meantime?” Mrs. Keener asked, and Tony hid his inner unhappiness behind as reassuring a mask as he could muster.

“Then he’ll be bumped up on the list. And we’ll be putting him on some medications to help keep his heart from working too hard.”

Mrs. Keener didn’t look too comforted, not that Tony blamed her, and now Harley was picking up his mother’s worry. Tony settled in, ready to walk them through what the next few months were likely to look like.

After a forty-five minute conversation, at which point Tony gave them his personal number and insisted they call him with questions, he finally exited the room to find Friday standing outside the door, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled at her reproving expression.

“Do you?” she asked, words sharp but smile teasing as they walked towards the next room. “The waiting room is piling up. You were supposed to get through _three_ appointments in the last hour, not _one_.”

“I _know_ , Friday, you sass-monster. Now tell me about room 8.”

Clinic ran late, as it always did. Tony had retreated to his office after they finally finished with the patients at half past six to work on writing notes up for each encounter. A fantastic headache was building up behind one eye, and Tony rubbed at his head before finally deciding it was time for a caffeine break.

Walking briskly out of the clinic and down the hall of the hospital, he made his way towards the little café in the hospital, having decided he needed something a little stronger than the watery shit they served in the lounge.

“Dr. Stark! Dr. Stark!”

Seemingly out of nowhere, a small-but-strong weight crashed into his legs and waist. Stumbling a bit, Tony managed to retain his balance, looking down to see a mop of fluffy brown hair attached like a leech to his waist. 

“Pete?” Tony asked, and the brown mop looked up, hitting Tony in the face with the beaming brown eyes and wide smile of one of his favorite patients. Tony laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’ve gotten so big, Underoos!”

“Dr. Stark, that was one time,” Peter whined, releasing Tony so he could cross his arms huffily. 

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Stark, he saw you and just went running over.” Peter’s aunt was slightly out-of-breath when she came jogging up, offering an apologetic smile, and Tony waved her apology away. 

“Not at all,” he said immediately, grinning down at Peter. “What’re you doing here anyway? You didn’t have an appointment with me, I’d have remembered that.”

“The APN saw us today, since it was just the yearly checkup,” May responded, giving Peter a fond smile. 

“Ahh gotcha, gotcha. So you’re still doing well, then, kiddo? That pig in your heart still oinking away?”

“Dr. Stark, there’s no pig in my heart,” Peter giggled as May took his hand.

Tony mock-gasped. “I’m pretty sure there is, I put him there myself!”

“That’s a pig _valve_ , Dr. Stark,” Peter said, grin widening across his face.

Tony made an exaggerated noise of surprise. “Ahhh, that’s right. How did I get through med school without you?”

May rolled her eyes but smiled. “He’s doing well,” she confirmed. “The valve’s still holding up just fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it! Up to anything fun?” Tony asked, eyes twinkling down at the kid.

“I get to go to the ‘musement park with my school Wednesday!” Peter chirped, jumping excitedly.

“That’s exciting, buddy! What rides are you gonna ride?” he prompted, and Peter bounced some more.

“They jus’ got this big roller coaster called tha, uh, tha – “

“The Iron Monger,” May supplied, and Peter nodded enthusiastically.

‘That one! I’m gonna ride that one! It’s the biggest roller coaster in North ‘merica!” Peter finished eagerly. 

“That sounds awesome, squirt! Ride it twice, once for you and once for me, ‘kay?” Tony said with a grin, ruffling his hair again, and Peter beamed up at him.

“You got it, Dr. Stark!”

Tony grinned, glancing up at May, who was smiling fondly at her nephew before glancing up at him with a wink as she reached for Peter’s hand. “We should probably be heading home now,” she said apologetically. “He’s got to be up early tomorrow for school.”

“Of course,” Tony said easily as Peter stamped his feet unhappily.

“But Aunt Mayyyyy,” he whined.

“No buts, young man, we’re getting you home so you can go to school tomorrow.”

“But school’s _boring_!”

“Hey, now, I like school!” Tony protested, which was only partially a lie. He’d liked certain parts of school, once he’d gotten to the challenging parts of it.

“But Dr. Stark, it’s so _easy_ , it’s _dull_ ,” Peter complained, and Tony snorted, recognizing the feeling.

“The school wants him to skip a few grades, but I told them no,” May explained, tugging a little on Peter’s hand.

Tony nodded. “Smart. Give him time to be a kid,” he advised, remembering all too well the shittiness of being a 13-year-old amongst people who could drive and legally drink. He looked back at Peter, a grin on his face. “And _you_ can still learn things, even if you think they’re boring and easy,” he said reprovingly. “Tell ya what, next time you’re here, I want you to tell me five new things you learned in school, and I’ll tell you five really awesome facts that probably no one else in your class knows. Deal?”

Peter brightened. “Deal!”

And with that, the Parkers walked away, May shooting Tony a grateful look as they left. 

A pleasantly content feeling washing through him, Tony continued his march towards the café, headache returning now that more enjoyable pursuits were over and done. He hummed quietly to himself as he walked, nodding at the few physicians and nurses as he passed. 

He had almost reached the café when he heard his name.

“ – Stark is a kind man, Dr. Strange,” a voice was saying, and Tony drew up short, recognizing the surname as the one spoken in the doctor’s lounge. The new neurosurgeon, then. Tony smiled, deciding he may as well introduce himself. He glanced around, searching for the source of the voice and realized he must’ve almost made it to the café as he was at a convergence of four hallways. When he didn’t spot the speaker, he realized they must be in one of the other hallways, concealed behind a wall. He started to step forward to make himself known, but halted at the next words.

“A kind man? Clearly you didn’t see the look on that child’s face when he came out of Stark’s office earlier, Dr. Palmer, but I assure you it was a piteous sight to behold.” Strange’s tone was scathing, and it drew Tony up short, leaving him blinking in surprise.

“I’m sure there’s a _reason_ for that – “

“A reason? What possible reason could a pediatric doctor have for making a child cry? And the kid’s mother wasn’t happy with Stark either, based on the number of expletives coming out of her mouth. I don’t know who your sources are, Christine, but ‘kind’ is not a phrase I’d use to describe Dr. Stark based on that. And if the copious amount of material written about him _before_ he came to work here is true, a more accurate representation would probably be ‘over-privileged rich kid who has never known anything of suffering.’”

The words caught him off guard enough that he only stood and watched as two people he assumed to be Dr. Strange and Dr. Palmer strode by briskly, not noticing him standing in another hallway as they passed. And _because_ he was stuck standing there watching as they passed by, Tony was forced to acknowledge the rather unfortunate fact that Clint had not exaggerated when he’d described Stephen Strange’s attractiveness.

Whatever. _Whatever_. The guy was clearly an awful prick who made snap fucking judgment about people without even meeting them, which _wasn’t_ attractive. So fuck him. Figuratively speaking, of course. 

Good mood having evaporated entirely, Tony stalked away, stepping towards the café with renewed vigor. Tersely, he ordered his coffee, sitting at one of the tables by a window and staring at the steadily darkening sky while he brooded.

It wasn’t so much that Strange had judged him using the example of a patient who was crying because Tony had tried to get his mom to do the right thing that upset him so much – it was the reminder of a past that it seemed like Tony could never escape, no matter how much he tried to do to atone. Because those goddamn tabloid articles would follow him forever, would never let him forget who he’d been, the last name he bore. Even now, years later, when he had built a life for himself entirely separate from the man he’d been before, built a family of people he could stand beside proudly, he was still haunted by the specter of his past.

It was infuriating – but even worse, it was despairing. What could he do to erase the sins of his past? Would anything ever be enough?

“I thought I’d find you here.” As had been typical all through college and med school, Rhodey’s voice jerked him out of his maudlin thoughts, and he glanced up to see the man smirking down at him before plopping down into the seat across from him. “Brooding about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Tony asked blankly. “What’s tomorrow?”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow warily. “Tomorrow? The first of June? Your biannual family dinner with your parents?”

Heart dropping _again_ , Tony cursed fluidly, expletives spilling out first in English, then switching to Italian, French, and German when he didn’t feel like he’d quite gotten the point across.

“I’m taking that to mean you forgot,” Rhodey said delicately when Tony had finished, taking a dainty sip from his own coffee. Tony crossed his arms, looking out the window angrily. 

“Wish you hadn’t told me. Then I could’ve forgotten even longer, until Ana called tomorrow to remind me,” Tony said, tone surly. Rhodey smirked at him.

“Sorry, dearest, your dinner date would’ve come for you one way or another,” Rhodey teased, then frowned. “If that wasn’t what you’re in such a pissy mood about, then what is it?”

Tony sighed, resting his head in his hands. “I wish I’d never been born a Stark, Rhodey bear,” he said tiredly, and Rhodey looked at him with concern. But when he didn’t elaborate, Rhodey simply leaned forward, clapping him on the back a few times sympathetically.

“You’re not a Stark, you’re a Tony. There’s only one like you in the world.”

“And thank God for that,” Tony muttered self-deprecatingly. Rhodey snorted, the pats on the back turning into a punch on the shoulder.

“Whatever, you little shit, you know how much we all love and need you. Now stop with the pity party and come watch Clint tease Bucky until he punches him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony visits his parents. It goes about as well as expected. Good thing he has friends to take care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all. so I'm on my surgery rotation right now, and the hours are BRUTAL. like no lie every time tony says something about the hours he works in this or any other chap, it's not an exaggeration. I'm EXHAUSTED.
> 
> Also!!! it's my birthday!!!! so in celebration, i decided fuck studying and instead worked on this chapter. lmao we'll see how that works out for me on the upcoming quiz.
> 
> hope you guys enjoy! sorry for the delay!!

Tony stared at the front door of his parents’ mansion with dread in his heart and weariness in his bones – and he hadn’t even stepped inside yet. It was always the same, an imperious, looming monstrosity that bore down with the dead-weight of the hopes and expectations of the man who’d designed it. Hopes that Tony had never managed to live up to, no matter how hard he’d tried.

“Yeah, well, no one could have lived up to your monumental expectations, Dad,” Tony muttered to the building, hands shoved in his pockets as he glared up at the disapproving turrets. Sighing to himself and deciding it was probably better to just go ahead and get it all over with, Tony started up the stairs, stepping up to the front door and ringing the doorbell. It echoed on the other side of the door before the door swung open, revealing a red-cheeked, beaming older woman half-covered in flour and hair in disarray.

“Tony, sweetheart, you made it!” Ana Jarvis cried, tugging him immediately into a crushing hug that Tony enthusiastically returned. She pulled back and eyed him critically, though not with the same determination to find fault as his father. “You’re looking too thin,” she said reprovingly, patting him on the tummy before her eyes flicked back up to his face. “Are they feeding you enough down at that hospital of yours? And please tell me you’re not working all night again, darling – you’re going to work yourself into a heart attack at age 40 like my grandfather did!”

“I work whenever they need me, Ana,” Tony replied amusedly. “Kids don’t exactly have heart problems on a schedule.”

Ana tutted. “Going to work yourself to death, you are,” she reiterated, shaking a finger at him. She waved him inside impatiently. “Come in, come in.”

Tony was half-tempted not to, but he stepped forward regardless, knowing his fate wouldn’t be denied. Ana, perceptive, beautiful Ana, caught his reluctance, because she gave him a knowing look and sympathetic smile.

“They’re in the sitting room, dear,” she said, leading the way – as if Tony could forget where the sitting room was in the home he’d grown up in. As if he could forget any part of his miserable childhood.

“Right. And which childhood trauma are we fixating on for tonight’s pleasant table conversation?” Tony sighed, and Ana looked at him reprovingly as they passed ornate picture frames and gold-trimmed vases. 

“Now you stop that right now, Tony darling,” she scolded. “Your parents just love you very much and want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Tony snorted. “Oh, Ana, you don’t really believe that.”

Ana looked as though she was preparing to retort, but she closed her mouth as they came up on the sitting room. She stopped in the doorway, adjusting his collar and straightening his tie. “Chin up, dear,” she said. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Says the lion to the lamb,” Tony muttered under his breath, inhaling deeply before walking past Ana. 

“Ah, so I see the brilliant doctor has finally deigned to grace us with his presence.” Howard Stark’s voice was as cutting as Tony remembered. He was silhouetted against the flickering flames of the fire (in _June_ , a silly display of wealth as though a home without a fireplace would be unworthy of the Stark presence), one hand resting artfully against the dark cherry wood of the mantle while the other heeld an amber-liquid filled lowball. It was so clearly a contrived position, meant to display power and control, that Tony nearly laughed, recognizing it as one of the dumbass intimidation tactics his father had oh-so-magnanimously tried to teach him.

“Well, lives don’t save themselves,” he said lightly as he entered the room, pretending not to notice Howard’s snort. Turning away from his father, he looked to the only thing in the room worth paying any attention to. His mother was smiling up at him from where she was perched on the couch, her dainty robins-egg-blue dress spread out around her. “Buonasera, Mama, it’s good to see you,” he said, his tone warm and genuine as he stooped to press a light kiss to each cheek.

“Antonio, mio caro, I’m so glad you could make it,” she responded, her smile brilliant and worth every second of the painful interactions with his father that he was about to endure. “Please, help yourself to a drink. Dinner should be ready soon. We’re having your favorite – chicken cacciatore with peach pie for dessert.”

Tony beamed at her. “You know me too well, Mama,” he commented as he moved towards the tray bearing various arrays of alcohol, disliking that it brought him closer to his father in the process but enduring it because – well, _alcohol_. Maybe if he moved quickly, he could get a drink and dart back before Howard could say anything to the relative safety of the ornate chair beside Maria’s couch, clearly chosen for its appearance rather than its comfort.

Much like everything else that resided in the Stark household and/or bore the Stark name, the décor had a very specific, predefined purpose that it must be entirely perfect for, lest it be replaced. In this case, the purpose was to be intimidatingly exquisite – _not_ to be comfortable for guests or residents of the home. In fact, Tony would venture the guess that his father might even be _unhappy_ if any of the décor dared to be both exquisite _and_ comfortable – after all, there was no sense in something having a purpose other than what Howard Stark laid out for it, right? Howard Stark knew best, and fulfilling a purpose other than that designated by Howard Stark was tantamount to betrayal of the good Stark name. Howard had told him as much the moment Tony had decided to go to med school.

Yeah, he was going to need a _lot_ of alcohol to get through this night. 

He poured himself some scotch as quickly as he could without spilling, hoping he could dart away before his father could size him up and find something lacking to comment snidely on. But of course luck was never on his side.

“That’s the suit you wore last year, to the Parker’s charity gala,” he commented, and Tony sighed, turning to see cold eyes assessing him.

He shrugged. “Probably.”

Howard’s eyes narrowed. “What, are they not paying you enough to get new clothes? You’re having to recycle your old ones now? Or were your mother and I simply not worth dressing up for?”

Tony bit down an acidic retort, knowing it would get him nowhere and just make the situation worse. “They’re paying me plenty,” he said mildly instead. “They are not, however, giving me extra days off so that I can…shop.”

His father scoffed. “You could’ve just called Anderson and had him make you a new suit. He has your measurements. Or are you too _important_ to make a call?”

Tony just felt tired. “Why?” he asked, and his father blinked at him, having not expected that response.

“I don’t understand.”

“Why?” Tony repeated, and his father’s eyes narrowed, so he clarified. “Why do I need a new suit? I have a perfectly good one right here.” He gestured to himself. Howard snorted.

“That one’s _old_. Styles have changed in the past year,” he said slowly and condescendingly, as though he was explaining the concept to a particularly slow toddler.

Tony just shrugged. “So what?”

Howard stared at him. “So – “ he blustered, “so it weakens the Stark name to have you running around like _that_ , as though we don’t have enough money to afford the latest styles!”

“Then our name must not be very strong, if that’s all it takes to weaken it,” Tony said calmly. Howard spluttered, face reddening.

“That’s not the point, and you know it, boy!”

“Boys, boys!” Maria called out quickly, standing and walking over gracefully to take Tony by the arm and lead him to one of the seats. “Let’s not fight. We don’t get to see our Antonio very often, and I would not have us spend this time with each other arguing.”

Tony smiled softly at his mother, grateful for her interruption, but Howard glowered. Tony could see the moment he decided he had to have one last parting shot. “It’s like you’re not even my son,” he sneered, and Tony stiffened. Once, those words would’ve crushed him. Once, he’d wanted nothing more than to be exactly like his father, the tech guru, the weapons giant, one of the most feared and respected men in the world.

“Good,” he said simply, the word free of bite or acidity, notable only for its fervency. He turned away from his father, turning his attention back to Maria, knowing that would only infuriate Howard further. “Now Mama, tell me what you and your garden club have been doing lately. I saw those hydrangeas out front – they’re beautiful. How did you manage that?”

Dinner was _endless_. The only highlight, other than getting to speak with his mother intermittently, was seeing Jarvis again. Tony had lit up when the older man came to fetch them for dinner, crossing the room in broad strides and encasing the man in a hug. It was something he’d have never done in front of his father when he’d still wanted Howard’s approval, but since he no longer gave a single fuck about that, he was perfectly happy to be as ‘improper’ as he pleased and hug the man who helped raise him. 

And Jarvis, for his part, seemed similarly inclined, squeezing him back with a kind of fierce strength belied by his age. “You are looking well, Master Anthony,” the older man had whispered, and Tony had smiled brilliantly.

The visit had only gone downhill from there, with Howard sneaking barbs into dinner conversation throughout all four courses. Maria did her best to mediate, and Tony did his best to ignore them, focusing on catching up with his mother – the only reason he continued to put up with these dinners. 

Finally, _finally_ , the dinner came to an end, and Tony was preparing to make his great escape when the doorbell rang. He and Maria exchanged confused looks as Jarvis left the room to answer it.

“Were we expecting company?” Maria asked, turning her gaze on Howard, who was looking entirely too smug for Tony’s comfort. 

“It’s just Obie, darling. I thought he might want to come over for a cigar and a nightcap,” Howard reassured her, eyes glinting, and Tony felt a swoop of dread, already knowing where this was going.

“Well, I should probably head out, then, so you can get to it,” he started, standing quickly.

“Tony, my boy! It’s good to see you!” Obadiah boomed, striding into the room, Jarvis trailing behind him with that bland look on his face that Tony knew meant he was disapproving.

“Hi, Obadiah,” Tony said courteously, trying to skirt around the bigger man, but Obadiah was having none of that, reaching out and clasping Tony’s hand in the guise of a handshake that was keeping Tony trapped in place.

“It’s been a while, my boy! You should join your father and me for a nightcap,” he said with a bright grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and Tony shook his head.

“Wish I could, but I have to be up early tomorrow. Have to get back to the hospital and all that,” Tony said with an airy ‘what-can-you-do?’ wave of his free hand.

“C’mon, my boy, it’s just one drink with an old friend who’s missed you! Maria, tell your son old friends are more important than work!” Obadiah implored with a jesting smile, turning to Tony’s mother, who simply smiled, sweet and clueless.

“Come now, Antonio, surely you can stay for one drink, mio caro,” she chided, and Tony wilted.

“One drink,” he agreed (warned), and Obadiah released his great booming laugh, clapping Tony on the back.

“Good man!”

“Why don’t we take this to the study?” Howard “suggested,” and Tony sighed, resigned.

“You boys have fun,” Maria said with a small smile, and Tony wondered how she didn’t realize this was happening under extreme duress. He let himself be led out of the room by Obadiah’s firm hand, exchanging a despairing look with Jarvis, whose mouth twitched sympathetically.

The study doors closed behind them with a condemning boom, and Tony was left in one of the places he hated most in the world with two of the people he trusted least in the world. The study hadn’t changed since Tony had last been ambushed there. Howard’s enormous, gaudy desk still sat front and center, framed by his many prestigious awards and a collection of scholarly-looking leather chairs and couches. The lamplight that lit the room should’ve been warm and intimate, but mostly just felt creepy and dark.

“Still a scotch man, my boy?” Obadiah called, heading for the liquor cabinet, and Tony made an affirmative noise, deciding he may as well sit and get comfortable. He chose one of the chairs so that there was no opportunity for Obadiah to slide up next to him. Howard was pulling the cigars out, lighting his own up as Obadiah handed Tony his drink.

“Thank you,” Tony said politely, noting that Obadiah had poured a _very_ generous amount. Looked like they were going to be getting as much as they could out of his ‘one drink’ promise. Obadiah accepted a cigar from Howard, letting the other man light it before sitting on the couch across from Tony, cigar in one hand and tumbler in the other. Howard joined them a moment later. 

There was a moment of silence while Tony nursed his drink, trying not to make it too obvious that he was slurping it down as quickly as possible, and the other two men alternated between sips of their drinks and puffs of the cigars. Smoke was curling through the air, circling around them snake-like and sinister to Tony’s eyes – but then again, he was a bit biased.

“I’m glad you’re here, Tony. Things haven’t been the same without you around here,” Obadiah said, and Tony internally grimaced, readying himself for the onslaught.

“Well, it’s very hard to say no to my mother when she asks you to do something,” he responded diplomatically. Obadiah boomed his laughter.

“Too true, too true,” he chortled. “I always know better than to argue with Howie here when he says Maria’s asked him to do something. It’s a losing battle to argue with your mom.”

Tony stayed quiet, sipping his drink, but Obadiah was undeterred. “Things have been different around SI without you there, too. The R&D department misses you, my boy – you should visit sometime!”

“If my schedule ever lets up, I will,” Tony promised, knowing with some extreme relief that it was an empty one. His schedule was (thank _god_ ) always booked. 

Howard, though, was unfortunately able to smell the bullshit. He sneered. “And I guess you’re just going to be busy from now till the end of time?”

Tony shrugged. “Children’s hearts don’t fix themselves,” he said blandly.

“You can’t be the only person around who fixes children’s hearts, though, Tony,” Obadiah said reprovingly, and Tony just sipped his drink. Obadiah appeared to take that as permission to continue, his tone earnest as he leaned forward. “And see, that’s the thing, Tony, my boy. You’re smart as a whip, we all know that. You’re doing some good with your whole medicine thing. But you could do a whole lot _more_ good coming back to us – because you’re the only one who can do the things you do. You’re an _inventor_ , Tony, not a healer.”

Tony sighed. “Obadiah, it’s been 17 years since I worked at SI. My mind hasn’t changed in the whole time I’ve been away, and it’s not going to change today. Can we please just not do this?”

Obadiah frowned at him like he was being a particularly naughty child. “We just want you to live up to your full potential, Tony. And we feel like that’s being wasted as a doctor.”

“Okay, I guess we’re doing this,” Tony said tiredly, rubbing his face with a hand. He met Obadiah’s eyes with steel in his own. “I’m not going back to making weapons, Obadiah. I swore after Afghanistan that I was going to do my best to make up for all the deaths I’d caused with my inventions, and I will not change my mind on that. It’s not happening.”

“But Tony,” Obadiah implored, “you’re not just taking lives, you’re saving the lives of all the soldiers who benefit from your inventions. Being a doctor may seem noble and all, but _anyone_ could save the lives that you’re saving. You’re the only one who can protect our troops like you do – we have some other brilliant people in R&D, but you’re the best, Tony. You’ve always been the best.”

“I said no, Obadiah,” Tony said firmly, finishing the last of his drink and standing. “Now I’ve fulfilled my promise, so I’m heading out.”

“Coward,” Howard spat, standing with Tony. “You let some little experience in Afghanistan make you _weak_ , boy.”

Tony gritted his teeth, battling his temper and losing. “Some ‘little experience’? I was tortured and held in a cave by terrorists with our weapons for _three months_ when I was _seventeen_. And I only got out on my own ingenuity and the sacrifice of the only friend I had in there. You wanna call me a coward for taking that experience and deciding I was done making things that hurt people? Fine. But you have no _fucking_ idea what it was like, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your opinion on what makes a coward to heart.”

And with that, Tony set down his glass and strode out of the study, just barely managing to not slam the door behind him. Outside the room, he took a moment to take a few deep breaths, already chiding himself for losing his temper. 

“Is everything alright, dear? I heard yelling.” The sound of Maria’s voice had the tension draining out of Tony’s shoulders, and he smiled at her as she came closer, eyes warm and concerned. 

“Everything’s fine, Mama,” he assured her. “Just…lost my temper a bit there.”

Maria frowned, reaching out and touching his face. He leaned into her touch, resting his hand on top of hers. “I hope they weren’t trying to pressure you to get back into the weapons business,” she said reprovingly, and he smiled wryly.

“That’s what they do, Mama.”

“Well, I’m just going to have to have another talk with them,” she huffed, displeased, and Tony shook his head, turning to press a kiss against her palm before placing her hand back on his cheek.

“I can handle it,” he reassured her, and her brow was still furrowed.

“You shouldn’t have to,” she objected, and he just shrugged. Her eyes softened. “I hope you know how proud I am of the man you’ve become. You’ve grown up so much since those horrible three months. I thought I’d never get you back, and here you are today, the kind of man any mother would be proud to call her son. You are a treasure, mio caro.”

Touched, Tony smiled quietly. “Thank you, Mama.”

This was it, the reason he kept coming back to these otherwise-godawful dinners.

But wonderful bonding moment with his mother aside, the night had been overall awful, and Tony was not in his best mood the next day. The talk with his father and Obadiah had dredged up memories he’d tried to forget, and Tony could feel the cave hovering over his shoulder like a particularly persistent ghost of his past, rattling its chains and tugging, yanking, dragging him down after he’d fought so hard to keep his head above ground.

“What’s up your ass today?” Friday asked after they’d finished morning clinic, and he gritted his teeth.

“Nothing, and I’ll thank you to keep your nose where it belongs,” he snapped. Remorse flooded him immediately, and he turned, expression regretful as he met the unimpressed raised brow of his favorite nurse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, Friday,” he apologized, upset and taciturn. She eyed him speculatively, waiting, and he felt as though the words were pulled from him. “I visited my parents last night, and my father and I are…not on the best terms.”

Friday nodded once, decisively. “I figured as much,” she said simply, tone unjudgmental, and Tony stared at her. She gave him a measuring look. “You come to work in a mood twice a year, exactly six months apart each time. Plus…” Her expression was slightly remorseful as she admitted, “I’ve seen a few stories about you in the papers ‘n such. Not that I believe ‘em,” she added hastily. “Th’ papers exaggerate a lotta stuff, an’ you’re so upfront that I trust you to tell us th’ truth. But I just figure you an’ your pa must have an…interesting time of it.”

Floored, Tony simply looked at her. “…You know?” he asked finally, and she winced and nodded.

“My ma likes to follow the papers. She won’ shut up about you,” she admitted, and Tony ducked his head. 

“All of that was a long time ago,” he said finally. “I’ve been trying to stay out of the spotlight since and just do my job.”

“Not your fault that th’ papers want to focus on you,” Friday consoled him, and Tony gave her a wry smile. “An’, for what it’s worth, you’re much more than what the papers make you out to be.”

Tony blinked, staring at her. “Thanks, Fri,” he said finally, unable to manage anything else.

“Sure thing, Boss,” she chirped back, cheerful demeanor returning in a flash before she darted away, undoubtedly to finish her notes, and Tony turned, half in a daze, mentally deciding it was time for lunch.

He headed to the break room, striding in the door still stupefied, turning to the coffee machine for some much needed wakey-juice without bothering to take stock of the room.

“ – I just think your lot don’t understand what _we_ do to make sure you even have the opportunity to save lives,” he heard Carol shooting off, tone acerbic in that way that meant that someone wasn’t understanding the value of trauma surgeons to the jobs of other surgical subspecialties.

“And _I_ just think you lot don’t understand how many of your mistakes we have to correct when we come in after you’ve ‘stabilized’ a patient,” a voice he’d hoped he’d never hear again said derisively, and Tony could practically hear Carol’s eyes narrowing.

“Well, I, on the other hand, think you’re all a bunch of blithering idiots trying to out-dick one another when the truth is that none of you could’ve survived a psych rotation,” Natasha said drily, and Tony wanted to roll his eyes at her blatant attempt to redirect their attention to something that would incite a more _harmless_ fight – but the two surgeons appeared to fall for it, shouting her down with impunity as Tony stared at his slowly brewing coffee with increasing desperation.

Finally, the coffeemaker finished brewing with a satisfying hiss, and Tony poured his lifeblood into the waiting mug, immediately taking a sip and having zero regrets when he burned the shit out of his mouth. He must have made some sort of startled noise, though, because he can practically feel eyes on him.

“Antoshka!” Natasha called out, and Tony turned to see her giving him a soft smile, peering at him from where she was perched on the couch. Tony focused on her, ignoring Carol and Stephen, who were standing further back, eyeing each other warily. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a while,” she said, her tone admonishing, and Tony gave her a sheepish smile and a shrug in apology, sipping his coffee rather than replying. “You’ve canceled your last three appointments with me. I feel like I should be offended that I’m being ignored.”

“Sorry, Nat,” Tony said, his apology more sincere this time. “I’ve just been so busy lately, you know how it gets.”

“I do,” she acknowledged, then looked at him very carefully with that same penetrating stare that made Tony feel like she was seeing too much more than a normal person could. “But your mental health and stability is just as important to your ability to treat patients as your presence.”

Tony winced. She had a point, really. But what was the saying? Doctors always make the worst patients. Tony was certainly no exception to that rule.

“You’re ducking out of your appointments, Tony?” Carol said, frowning at him and crossing her arms.

Tony held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, things keep popping up last minute with my patients that I have to take care of! I’m not _trying_ to miss them!”

Carol’s frown only deepened. “I’m a trauma surgeon, Stark – if there’s anyone who understands things ‘popping up last minute,’ it’s me. But if I can make it to my appointments, so can you.”

And really, this was one of the reasons Tony loved having Carol as a friend. Because harsh as her words may sound, she was looking at him with concern and caring (and, okay, yes, a hint of sternness). She was like the Mom Friend, only the more badass, take-no-shit, you-will-take-care-of-yourself-or-I-will-make-you version.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Tony caved immediately, and Carol nodded once, approving.

“Stark is seeing a therapist? Whatever for?” Strange’s voice sounded simultaneously incredulous and derisive, and Tony’s hackles raised immediately as he unwillingly turned his gaze to Strange, who was looking at Carol.

Carol, for her part, raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? You’re really asking that?” she asked, equally incredulous. “Not that it’s any of your business whatsoever,” she added dismissively, and Strange looked irritated.

“And Dr. Romanov isn’t a therapist, she’s a psychiatrist,” Tony inserted waspishly, seeing Natasha’s half-smile from the corner of his eye while his gaze remained on Strange, who was turning to meet his eyes. Tony refused to get sidetracked by how unnaturally blue the other man’s eyes were or how… _disconcerting_ it felt to have the other man’s full attention on him. “And she’s a psychiatrist who specializes in PTSD, which is exactly the kind of psychiatrist I need. But what would I know about something like that, I’m just an over-privileged rich kid who has never known anything of suffering, right?”

Tony kind of wished he could capture a picture of Strange’s expression as his own words were thrown back in his face to hang above his bed, but he supposed his memory would have to do. The neurosurgeon looked shocked and guilty for a second before his face went entirely blank. 

“What?” Carol interjected, and Strange took the opportunity to look away from Tony and instead cast his attention on her – though Tony thought he probably regretted it from the fiery expression on Carol’s face.

Tony took a sip of his coffee, letting a disaffected demeanor fall over him. “Didn’t you know, Carol?” he said drolly, raising his coffee mug in the other man’s direction. “Dr. Strange is an expert on me. He has, after all, seen the _materials_ written about me.”

Strange’s gaze flicked back to him, appearing to take in Tony’s casual stance. His expression darkened. “That was a private conversation.”

“Held in a public hallway,” Tony countered, unimpressed. “One that I happened to be walking in.”

Comprehension and renewed guilt bloomed on Strange’s face, but it disappeared quickly once again, leaving the blank mask in its place. “Well, I’m sorry if seeing you make a child cry coupled with your… _previous history_ didn’t exactly make for a sympathetic tale, Dr. Stark,” he said sardonically, and Tony grinned at him, all sharp teeth and insincerity.

“Not at all, Dr. Strange,” he said saccharinely. “First impressions are, after all, of the utmost importance, especially of someone whom others hold in high regard and who you find…” Tony paused, looking at Stephen from toe-to-head and raising an unimpressed brow. “…lacking.”

Strange’s expression closed off entirely, staring at Tony with distaste as Tony continued to smile sweetly.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more children to make cry awaiting me in clinic,” Tony said with a bright smile, taking another sip of his coffee. “Carol, Nat,” he said, tipping his head to both of them, and they nodded back before returning their versions of angry glares back on Strange – Carol actually outright glaring, and Natasha looking at him calculatingly as if debating the best means of slowly disassembling him.

Letting the door close behind him, he smiled slightly to himself. So some people may not like him – fuck it, he had the best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buenosera - good evening  
> mio caro - my dear
> 
> also - for anyone who's worried, I realize stephen is coming off as an ass. i'm basing him off how he was in doctor strange before the car accident. not to worry, he will get better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony hates conferences, Strange and Hammer are dicks, Strange may not be as big a dick as Tony thought, and Tony is very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! trigger warning!! panic attack and flashback occurs near the end of the chapter. pls be forewarned if this is something you don't want to read. I can provide a summary of the chap if you request in the comments.
> 
> so this chap and what will be the next one were originally supposed to be one chapter, but the next arc is going to be a doozy and is pretty separate from what happens in this chapter, so I decided to split them up. so yeah, the chapter count increased to 7. oops.

Tony hated conferences.

He’d hated them when he’d been a scrawny little undergrad, having to go to some national robotics conference or another. He’d hated it at SI, when they’d sent him essentially to show their competitors how out of their league they were. And he hated them now, when Pepper made him go to national surgical conferences on the grounds that ‘you’re one of the faces of our hospital and you _will_ represent us, Tony.’

Thankfully, there were only two big ones that he had to attend per year: the national meeting for the American Association for Thoracic Surgery, which had already happened, and the national meeting for the American College of Surgery, which was where he was now.

And he hated them for reasons like _this_ , one Dr. Justin Hammer swanning his way over with his greasy grin in place. “Nat, save me,” he muttered to the red-head, and she followed his eyes to see Hammer, quickly laughing gaily as though he’d said something incredibly funny and steering him with the hand she had crooked in his elbow in a slightly different direction through the crowd in a way that looked perfectly natural and _not_ like he was specifically avoiding Hammer.

See, this was why he brought her as his plus one. Natasha, not being a surgeon, obviously didn’t receive an invite to the conference, but Tony nearly always brought her as his date when she was free; she had this way of fending off all the people he didn’t want to talk to without coming off as rude like he would’ve if he tried the same tactics, which in turn made Pepper happy, which in turn made _everyone else_ at the hospital happy. Hippocrates knew that _no one_ was happy if Pepper wasn’t happy.

They’d discovered that this was the smoothest way fairly early on in his career at No Mercy West, after he’d pissed off important person after important person who oh-so-politely asked him invasive personal questions that sent him right back into the hot-cold-fear of the cave, causing him to end conversations abruptly and run off to panic in peace. Pepper had been sympathetic but simultaneously at her wits’ end when Natasha had calmly suggested that she accompany him to the next conference during one of their sessions.

And after that went smoothly, she’d accompanied him to the next one, and the next, until she accompanied him by habit to the conferences more than actual necessity – for his infamy had died down overall now. Sure, anyone who was curious and wanted to know more about him would come across his sordid past, but most of the medical field had by and large forgotten his upbringing and knew him instead as a brilliant surgeon. Nat wasn’t really needed anymore – but she accompanied him most times anyway, telling him with a confidential smirk curled on her lips that she enjoyed the opportunity to put some of the more... _confident_ surgeons who tried to flirt with her in their place.

Tony thought that was bullshit and that she really just wanted to make _sure_ he was okay, but in situations like this, he couldn’t be anything but grateful.

Because Hammer was one of the ones who _hadn’t_ let his past go. Natasha said it had something to do with his inferiority complex – he was in the same surgical subspecialty as Tony but hadn’t won _near_ as much renown, and he liked being able to lord Tony’s past over him as something to be ashamed of, as something Hammer felt like he was better than Tony. Tony thought he was just an asshole. Whatever, this was why Tony dealt with things he could fix with his hands, not broken-yet-structurally-sound brains.

Tony dragged himself out of his thoughts and pasted a smile onto his face as they drew near to whoever Nat had set her sights on as a means of escaping Hammer – then nearly let that smile drop when he saw who they’d approached, fighting back the urge to shoot Nat a look of betrayal.

“Dr. Strange,” she crooned as they sidled up next to where Strange was standing, irritatingly perfect-looking, next to an equally radiant Dr. Palmer. “And Dr. Palmer,” Nat continued, eyes flicking to the other woman, and the sharp smile Nat had been aiming at Strange gentled slightly. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

“Dr. Romanov,” Dr. Palmer started.

“Natasha, please,” Nat demurred, and Dr. Palmer looked pleased.

“It’s Christine, then,” Christine responded, charmed, before continuing, “I’ve heard great things about you, too. Although I’m surprised to see you here – you’re a psychiatrist, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Nat confirmed, tilting her head towards Tony. “I’m here to keep this one in line.”

“A tough job, I’m sure,” Strange muttered, and Nat’s eyes narrowed. Tony smirked quietly to himself.

“Are you, now? Goodness, you must be better at reading people than me, to have gotten such a _handle_ on Tony’s entire personality so _quickly_. Perhaps _you_ should’ve been the psychiatrist, hmm?”

Christine hid what Tony was shocked to see was a mirthful smile behind one hand, but Strange just met Nat’s challenging gaze head-on. “Some people are simply easy reads, psychiatrist or no.”

“That they are,” Nat agreed, eyeing Strange like he was something stuck on the bottom of her shoe, and Christine _laughed_. God, Tony loved Nat.

“Natasha, you and I are going to get along very well,” Christine snickered gleefully, and Natasha smiled serenely at her.

“I agree. Shall we chat and leave the boys to fight amongst themselves?” she asked sweetly, and Tony took it back, glaring at the back of that red head and trying to telegraph his thoughts of _I swear to god you better not leave me, Natasha Romanov_ to her brain. But either Nat didn’t hear or she didn’t care, because she extended an elbow to Christine, and the two women walked away arm-in-arm.

Tony was about 97% sure she did this on purpose. She was all about clearing the air as part of the healing process, or whatever the fuck, it seemed like some manipulative shit she would do, leaving him stuck here alone with Strange. He refused to look at the other man, glaring at the back of Natasha’s head as the two women wove through the crowd.

“I don’t think that’s going to make her come back,” a dry voice said beside him, and Tony still refused to look.

“I’m not trying to make her come back, I’m trying to make her hair catch on fire,” Tony muttered sullenly, and he was answered by a snort.

“Can’t stand to be left here with me? What, does my net worth not have enough zeroes in it?”

And at that, Tony did turn to him, eyes flashing as they lit on that arrogant smirk. “Wow, you really _are_ a prick who judges people based on their families. I never thought I’d meet a real-life Mr. Darcy – I thought people who were _that_ much of an asshole could only exist in fiction,” he said acerbically, and Strange cocked an eyebrow.

“Does that make you Elizabeth Bennet? I’m surprised you would deign to equate yourself with someone of that low a stature.”

“Yeah, well, _class_ isn’t just about how much money you have.”

“I suppose you would know, what with the way your mother behaves like she has a stick up her ass at all her little society parties.”

“Don’t you say a goddamn word about my mother,” Tony practically snarled, and wow the concept of personal space had disappeared real fast, with Tony and Stephen nearly in each other’s’ faces, eyes furious and body language confrontational. Tony sternly told himself that now was not the time to remember that Strange was extremely fucking hot – although the crack about his mother was enough of a reminder, thankfully. He continued in a low voice, “You can pick at me all you want, I don’t really care what you think about me. But don’t you dare say a fucking word about my mom again.”

Strange eyed him, appearing almost calculating in his assessment, and then he drew back. “My apologies. I let my temper get the best of me.”

Tony took a deep breath, looking away and trying to soothe the simmering rage. “I did, too. Sorry.”

And then the absolute _worst_ possible thing that could happen, as it usually did, _happened_.

“Tony! My man, I’ve been looking for you!”

Hammer’s voice washed over him gratingly, a hand coming to pat him on the shoulder, and Tony couldn’t quite keep the panic from flashing across his face before he quickly schooled his features into a more neutral expression – but not quickly enough to escape Strange’s notice, if the man’s confused expression was anything to judge by.

“Dr. Hammer,” Tony said cordially, turning to greet the other man with his media smile pasted on his face.

“Aw, Tony, I’ve told you to call me Justin,” the infuriating man said, waggling a finger in Tony’s face that Tony kinda wanted to bite off. “We’re friends!”

“Are we,” Tony deadpanned, unable to help himself, but Hammer just laughed as though Tony had made the most amazing joke.

“And who have we here?” Hammer asked delightedly, weaseling his way over and offering Strange his hand. “I’m Justin Hammer, a cardiothoracic surgeon, like Tony here.”

“Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon.”

The handshake was quick, a slick fight for dominance that Tony would bet Strange had won based on the way Hammer clenched and unclenched his hand after they’d drawn away. “Ah, a neurosurgeon. So basically a wizard, messing around with all that brain voodoo,” Hammer said sagely, and Tony would swear Strange was trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“I assure you, there’s more science to it than that,” Strange said flatly, and Hammer grinned.

“If you say so, friend.” Strange’s eye twitched, but Hammer seemed oblivious, clapping his hand on Tony’s opposite shoulder so that he basically had an arm around Tony. “Aren’t conferences the best? Always meeting new people, learning new things about the fields! I remember when I met Tony the first time.”

Here he goes, Tony thought to himself. Well, it wasn’t like Hammer could makes Strange’s opinion of him much worse.

“It was Tony’s first national conference, I think, and he had _tons_ of people around him asking him all about Stark Industries – you know he’s _that_ Tony Stark, right?”

“I’m aware,” Strange said drily. Hammer nodded eagerly.

“Anyway, he had all these people around him, and he was going on about _robots_ , of all things! Can you believe it? _Tony Stark_ , _the_ Tony Stark, son of billionaire weapons mogul who just dropped out of weapons manufacturing for no reason to go to medical school, and he wants to talk about _robotics_?” Hammer’s voice had risen in his incredulity, and more people were turning and looking at them. Tony felt increasingly uncomfortable.

“Robotics was what I was interested in,” he explained, trying not to feel defensive as Strange’s eyebrows rose, confusion coating his expression even _further_. “I didn’t care about weapons research – of course I was talking about robotics.”

“Sure, sure,” Hammer said with a careless wave of his hand. “But even so, you were an enigma! Turning down a position as CEO of a Fortune 500 company so that you could slave away in an OR – everyone wanted to know why, and all you could talk about was some artificial intelligence you were on the verge of creating.”

“Really?” Strange interrupted, giving him a, well, _strange_ look. “You almost created an artificial intelligence?”

“I _did_ create an artificial intelligence,” Tony muttered sulkily. “He just wasn’t very intelligent.” Poor DUM-E had been relegated to his dunce hat while trying to clean up after Tony and making an even _bigger_ mess more times than Tony could count.

“Whatever,” Hammer said dismissively, his grin at having the scoop on Tony practically blinding. “Anyway, I stepped in to save him from himself – walked up and said, ‘hey, we don’t care about any of that – what happened in Afghanistan to make you ditch your pop’s business and come slum it with us?’”

“Afghanistan?” Strange asked, brow furrowing and looking mystified, even as Tony’s heart was freezing. His breaths started coming faster, and he made a concentrated effort to control his breathing and mask any visible signs of distress. In. Out. In – hitch – out out out. In. 

Hammer continued obliviously, “Yeah, didn’t you hear about that? It was big news, oh, like 20 years ago. I guess it’s not such big news anymore – he had all kinds of more fun press before all of that that people like to talk about instead. But yeah, Tony got kidnapped in Afghanistan by some terrorist group and blasted his way out, then came back and immediately announced he was quitting his dad’s business and going to medical school. His old man disinherited him and everything. Everyone thought he was having a giant nervous breakdown and that he’d get it together and go back to Stark Industries, but he didn’t.”

In. Out. In, in, in. Out.

Tony couldn’t look up, didn’t want to see what judgmental expression was on Strange’s face, didn’t want to look at Hammer’s smug one – not that Hammer seemed to notice Tony’s state.

He continued blithely, “So of course we were all curious about what had happened to him that would make him leave such a cush life behind! And he just wanted to drone on and on about his robots. He’s lucky I was there to save him!” Hammer’s voice turned disappointed, then. “Of course, he never did tell us anything about why he quit his dad’s business. Said that he didn’t want to talk about it, or something. He’s just so selfish, our Tony, keeping all the juicy stories to himself like that!” And at that, Hammer elbowed him in a parody of camaraderie, and Tony forced a smile onto his face to meet Hammer’s glittering eyes.

In. Out. In.

“What can I say?” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out as a croak. “I’m a selfish guy.”

“Did you ever think maybe you didn’t have a _right_ to his story?” Strange asked coldly, and Tony’s gaze snapped to the other man, wide-eyed in surprise – almost as much surprise as Hammer, if the man’s narrow-eyed gaze was anything to go by. Strange wasn’t looking at him, gaze focused on Hammer, and – was that _anger_ Tony was seeing there? On _his_ behalf? Tony resisted the urge to scrub at his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. His surprise yanked him out of his panic for a brief moment, eyes wide and startled before the panic settled back in.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you ever think,” Strange started, a venom in his tone that Tony had only ever heard directed at _him_ , “in your empty little head that maybe you weren’t _entitled_ to an explanation about what was likely one of the worst experiences of Dr. Stark’s life? That maybe his time being held by a – a _terrorist cell_ , did you say? – wasn’t any of your business?”

Out. In. Out. In.

“Hey, now, we’ve been having a friendly conversation,” Hammer said, sounding insulted by the empty-headed comment, but Strange interrupted.

“No, _you_ interrupted a conversation between two colleagues with an incessant attempt to belittle Dr. Stark and minimize what he’s gone through, as well as treat it though it was for your own entertainment,” Strange said, his tone frigid. “I think you should leave.”

Hammer eyed him, sputtering, and Tony took the moment to slip out of his grasp, darting away and trying not to look like he was gasping for air as he pushed through the crowd. He aimed apologetic smiles at those he bumped into, praying they couldn’t read anything other than his that on his face. He pushed and dodged and slipped and _ran_ until he was past them all, outside of the hall, slipping into an empty side room where he put his back against a wall and sank to the ground, putting his head between his knees.

In. Out. In – in, out – out out in –

It was no use, the walls were closing in, flames from his memories flickering across jagged half-dirt, half-rock, casting shadows that stretched stretched stretched until they weren’t shadows anymore, they were Raza, with his easygoing countenance, his ‘relax’, that shifted on a dime to him holding a pair of tongs, ember-glowing coal between scratched, rusted metal as he reached toward toward toward Tony –

And then he wasn’t reaching for Tony anymore, Tony was being held, a mockery of four-point restraints, one point at his lower back, two at his shoulders, and one at his head, pushing him in in in the water, holding until he _has_ to take a breath – and then there’s fluid filling up his stomach, his lungs protected by his smarter-than-him body, but it can only protect him so long, and he’s gonna die die die in this water, he’s – 

“ – ny, Tony, c’mon, sweetheart, you’re okay. You’re not there, you’re here.”

Tony swims through the accursed water towards that familiar voice desperately.

“You’re not there, you’re here, with me – Nat, you remember me, right? I’m right here, and I’ve got you. I wasn’t there, was I? So you aren’t there either. I’m right here, and so are you.” Natasha’s voice washes over him soothingly, and then he can feel her hand in his hair, stroking him carefully from where he’s curled up against her. He breathes with her, matching the rise and fall of her chest. “That’s very good, Tony,” she encouraged, and any other time he’d have felt patronized, but right now that was what he needed to hear. He continued, breathing with her until the fear started to recede – not gone, never truly gone, but dissipating enough for him to try to talk, though he kept his eyes closed.

“Nat,” he croaked, embarrassed to find his voice crusty.

“Hey, Tony,” she said warmly, and he could feel the vibrations of her voice from where her head was pressed against her chest. “Things got a little exciting there for a minute, didn’t they?”

“Stupid Hammer.”

Natasha chuckled. “I agree. Hammer should be barred from these meetings. He’s an embarrassment.”

Tony frowned. “Pretty sure I’m the embarrassment tonight.”

Natasha’s hand paused for a second, as though surprised, before she resumed stroking. “Never, moy zvezdnyy svet. The fault is mine for not paying closer attention.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “You can’t protect me forever, Nat.”

“Watch me.”

A polite cough sounded, and Tony jerked upright, startled – because that wasn’t Nat’s cough. And with a growing sense of horror, his eyes lit on one Stephen Strange standing in the doorway, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

“Erm. If there’s no further need of me, I’ll just...” he jerked his head towards the exit. Natasha smiled - _smiled_ \- at him.

“That’s fine. I have this under control. Thank you for finding me, Stephen,” she said with a touch of what could only be _warmth_. Tony stared at her, partially because he was shocked, partially because he _really_ didn’t want to look at Strange. He wasn’t sure what he’d find – pity? disgust? irritation at his weakness? – and he didn’t really want to know.

“Right. Er. I’m glad you’re feeling better, Stark,” he said, and this time Tony couldn’t overcome his astonishment in time to prevent himself from looking at Strange. The man stared back at him, an unreadable expression on his face before he swept out of the doorway.

“Well that was weird and unexpected,” Tony said, tone baffled.

Natasha glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Was it? Was it really? After all the posturing you two have been doing all night?” A response that cleared up precisely _nothing_ for Tony, so he just stared at her in confusion. Natasha measured his expression, then sighed exasperatedly and rolled her eyes. “ _Boys_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moy zvezdnyy svet - my starlight
> 
> i'm honestly not sure if psychiatrists are trained on breaking flashbacks? haven't done my psych rotation yet, but regardless, I figured nat would have enough experience with tony himself to know what he needs
> 
> hahaha so im a dork, I liked getting to include a crack about strange being a wizard. that wasn't supposed to be there, it just kinda came out, bc tbh the brain really is basically voodoo. and I say this as someone who has every intention of spending the rest of her life dealing with the brain as either a neurologist or psychiatrist. it's voodoo, but it's fun voodoo.
> 
> also I couldn't resist calling out the pride and prejudice parallels. this is what u get for reading a med fic by a med person who was also an english minor and also had a roommate who was obsessed with p&
> 
> Side note that the "e" key on my keyboard is broken and likes to add multiple e's every time I click to add one e, so pls let me know if you find any typos? I tried to proofread but god knows I got super irritated with the e button after a while.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony may want to try to recover from Hammer's blow, but life has a different idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we're kicking off the bullshit 'grey's anatomy' level drama in this chapter. literally, my plot from here on out is "everything goes wrong", which is grey's in a nutshell soooooo
> 
> I don't think any warnings apply to this chapter? if you read and feel differently, pls let me know!

Tony flew out the next day. He’d been supposed to go to one of the many lectures by influential figures at the conference, but one call to Pepper by Natasha explaining the disastrous evening had cleared him of that obligation. He’d flown home with no fanfare and no small sense of relief, glad to have a couple of extra days off to recuperate. And to come to terms with the fact that Stephen fucking Strange knew what an absolute goddamn mess he was. Strange had _seen_ him in the middle of a panic attack. It was mortifying and awful and Tony kind of wanted to dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

It certainly didn’t make the prospect of returning to work and potentially running into the man in any way a pleasant thought. But try as he might, Tony couldn’t rationalize a reason not to go in to work Monday morning, so he reluctantly dragged his ass out of bed, threw on the first clean pair of scrubs he could find, and walked out the door before he could talk himself out of it.

He was halfway to the hospital before he realized he’d left his stethoscope behind. Oh, well. One of the residents or students would lend him one; it’s what they were there for.

Thankfully, today was a surgery day, which meant Tony could hole up in his OR and thereby greatly reduce his chances of running into any pesky neurosurgeons – or so he thought.

“Dr. Stark,” Strange said cordially, briskly approaching the sink beside where Tony was scrubbing in and grabbing an iodine-soaked brush. Tony swore violently, startled, then swore again in his head in recognition of who had cornered him.

“Dr. Strange,” Tony returned, scrubbing faster while trying not to make it obvious. If the amused look Strange shot him was anything to go by, he wasn’t very successful – although Tony had to admit it was more difficult to read Strange’s expressions with the lower half of his face covered by a surgical mask. But that judgmentally arched eyebrow was pretty unmistakable.

“I hope the past couple of days have treated you well,” he said, and Tony would swear he could hear a note of _genuineness_ to the other man’s voice. 

“Nope, nu uh, not talking about this,” Tony said immediately, and Strange only shrugged, rinsing his arms and beginning the methodical process of scrubbing his hands. Tony was pretty sure the man was smirking behind his mask.

“Just a statement, not an inquiry,” Strange reassured him, moving to scrubbing his wrists. Tony eyed him, but Strange wasn’t looking at him, eyes on his increasingly foamy arms. “I didn’t realize you and Dr. Romanov were an item.”

Tony sputtered, jerking and pausing in his scrub to stare at the man, who continued his motions serenely. “Nat and I are _not_ an item,” Tony said vehemently, and Strange looked at him then, one eyebrow raised.

“That was a strangely emphatic way of saying that.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “She’s like a sister to me. That’s so gross. Just. No.” Then, as an afterthought, “Plus, I’m her patient. It wouldn’t exactly be ethical.”

Strange inclined a head in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to his arms, foam inching towards his elbows, and Tony did the same. After a moment, figuring it was only fair, Tony said, “So, you and Dr. Palmer?” 

Strange snorted. “Not a chance. That woman is too good for me, and she knows it.” Tony laughed, surprised at the unexpected admission.

“I hear that. Pepper and I almost dated once, but she wisened up before we could get too serious,” Tony said, shaking his head in remembrance. He and Pep were better off as friends – she’d realized it first, but he agreed with her wholeheartedly now. They’d have driven each other insane. They still nearly did.

“Miss Potts? The hospital administrator? I’m pretty sure that woman could rule the world if she decided to set her sights on something beyond the hospital,” Stephen said, and Tony chuckled his agreement, rinsing his arms.

“If you look up ‘tenacious’ in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure you’ll just get a picture of her.”

He held his dripping hands aloft, the cool air pressing against wet skin and hesitated. He was done scrubbing, there was no real reason for him to stick around, but it seemed rude to just _leave_. “Erm, good luck in your surgeries today,” he finally settled on saying, and Strange shot him an amused look.

“You too.”

And Tony nodded, partly to himself, before spinning around and backing through the door to his OR.

What the fuck just happened.

The great thing about operating was that it had the benefit of forcing Tony to focus on the procedure instead of any other bullshit that may be going on in his life – and lord knew Tony needed something to take his mind off _everything else_ right now.

The downside was that all his problems were still there when he _left_ the OR. 

“Hey, Tones. Heard you had a fun weekend,” Rhodey called when Tony entered the break room, and Tony flipped him off without looking at him, heading for the blessedly-full coffee pot.

“Be nice to him, he had to fend off a Hammer attack,” Natasha scolded, and Tony heard a thumping noise behind him that he’d bet was Nat showing her displeasure at Rhodey’s taunt.

“Yeah, platypus, be nice to me,” Tony parroted, turning once he’d poured himself a mug and making his way to the couches. He flopped down next to the internal med doctor, immediately resting his head on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sensitive,” he said, batting his eyelashes, and Rhodey snorted, pushing him off. Nat watched the two with an amused look on her face, sipping from her own mug.

“You’re a drama queen, is what you are,” he retorted, and Tony made an affronted noise.

“Mean, honeybear.” Glancing around, Tony frowned. “Where is everyone? It’s, like, lunchtime.”

“It’s 3 p.m., dumbass,” Rhodey said amusedly, and Tony just shrugged. It wasn’t like _he_ decided his surgeries would last through lunch; such was life. “Besides, weren’t you just down at the OR? Surely you noticed everyone rushing around all frantically.”

Tony gave him a dubious look, sipping his coffee. “Do you even know me? Like, have you met me at all? Come on, sugar bear, you know how in the zone I get when I’m in surgery. The building could fall down around me and I probably wouldn’t notice.”

“Plus he blasts that godawful music so loudly, it would be an actual miracle if he was able to hear anything going on outside that room,” Natasha added.

Tony pointed an accusing finger at her. “Excuse you, how dare you insult Black Sabbath! They’re a classic, a _classic_ , I tell you.”

“Fair point,” Rhodey said as though he hadn’t spoken, nodding at Nat and turning a shit-eating grin on Tony in time to see his look of mock outrage. But before Tony could comment, Rhodey was continuing, “I think pretty much everyone got pulled into the massive trauma.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Massive trauma.”

“Yup. We had like eight of them come in by EMS at once, and several were level 1 activations. I guess none of them needed a peds cardio surgeon,” Rhodey said with a shrug, and Tony just nodded. 

“Why were there so many at once? Some kind of vehicle pileup?”

“Nah, actually it’s the first time I’ve heard this one – apparently, there was an accident in an amusement park. Some new massive roller-coaster detached from the tracks when it was upside down in one of the loops. Crashed all the way to the ground. Several people died on impact, and pretty much all of the rest are in emergency surgeries.”

“Wow, that’s awful,” Tony said, eyebrows raised. “I thought they safety tested those things before opening them to the public.”

Rhodey shrugged. “This one must’ve slipped through the cracks or something, I guess. It’s only been open for a few days now – it’s called Iron something?”

A beat, and then a smiling face was flashing through Tony’s memories, enthusiasm written on every inch of a tiny, vibrating, fragile body. “Iron Monger?” Tony whispered.

Rhodey blinked. “Yeah, that’s it. How did you – “

But Tony was already out the door.

– running through the hall – 

– dashing into the OR lounge –

– grabbing a cap and face mask by rote and pulling them on –

– eyes running over the snapboard, searching, searching, landing on Parker, P in OR 18 –

– running through the corridor, past OR 1, OR 2, etc etc, rounding corners, until he was reaching 16, 17, and then –

– bursting into OR 18, chest heaving, only to be greeted by the stunned masked expressions of the nurses and surge techs, meeting a pair of familiar cold blue eyes that looked more startled than he’d ever seen them.

“Dr. Strange.” Tony didn’t recognize his own voice, strangled and desperate as it fought its way past his tear-choked throat. He couldn’t look at the too-small body lying under all the crisp, sterile blue drapes, couldn’t look at where Strange was hovering, instruments in hand, over a small, spherical, blue-draped part that was undoubtedly Peter’s head – his _head_ \- all opened up and ready for surgical perusal. He couldn’t look at it, because if he did, he’d be sick, right here in the OR, and this was a sterile area, it was _sterile_ , and he couldn’t – 

He dragged his mind out of its downward spiral as Strange barked, “Dr. Stark. Is something the matter?”

Tony dragged himself back with a steel iron will, meeting Strange’s eyes. “You save him,” he said hoarsely. “You have to – you _have to save him_ , do you understand?” A pause, everyone looking at him like he was deranged.

“Dr. Stark,” one of the nurses standing at the fringes said soothingly, though still with a touch of confusion, making her way toward him, and Tony shook his head rapidly.

“No – no, he _has_ to save him. He’s _one of mine_ , he’s – he’s _special_ ,” Tony said desperately, and the nurse got close enough to grasp one arm, eyes sympathetic as she squeezed his arm comfortingly.

“Get him out of here,” Strange snapped, and the nurse nodded, her grip turning firmer, and Tony numbly let himself be led out without protest, as much as he wanted to – but he knew firsthand, with a distant sort of clarity, how much he’d have been disturbed by someone who was emotionally invested bursting into his OR. It was why they didn’t let family back.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Stark,” the nurse was saying, and he only nodded briefly, distantly.

“No, no. My fault, I - . Please convey my apologies to Dr. Strange.”

The words felt like they came from far away, and the nurse was still looking at him with concern, so he tried to give her a reassuring smile before remembering she couldn’t see it behind his face mask. So instead, he forced himself to meet her eyes, to crinkle his face in a mimic of what a smile should’ve looked like had it been less than fake, had it reached anything beyond his mouth.

“I’ll just go – see how everyone else is doing. Sorry,” he said, and then he fled.

Fled back past the ORs that undoubtedly held patients who were as important to other people as Peter was to him. Fled past the OR lounge full of laughing surgeons and physician’s assistants and surge techs and nurses who gave him passing glances as he flew by. Fled through the hallways, ripping off his mask and cap and shoving them in some trash bin before he came to a halt in the OR waiting room, forcing himself to assume a mask of confidence and calmness. It didn’t matter how frazzled he felt on the inside, if he turned up in a room full of people waiting to hear how their relatives fared in their operations wearing his OR scrubs and looking like the world had fallen out from under him, there would be _panic_. So he would appear calm, he _would_. He scanned the room, searching, searching – and _there_ , the familiar back of a brown-haired woman.

And he strode forward quickly, legs traversing the space as quickly as possible until he stood beside where she was seated on a couch, curled in on herself and rocking quietly back and forth, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.

“ _May_.”

Her gaze snapped up, met his eyes with sharp and vulnerable ones of her own, and then she was standing, launching herself at him.

“ _Tony_.”

And he held her while she cried, soaking his scrub top, his hands stroking as soothingly as he was capable down her back, trying to mask his own stricken gaze into something more comforting for the sake of the people around her who saw only a surgeon holding a patient’s sobbing mother, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to remain stoic, to be _strong_ , for her and for Peter.

He stayed silent, though, unwilling to offer useless, ingenuine platitudes of comfort that he couldn’t guarantee. Because he couldn’t say that Peter would be okay. He couldn’t say, even, that Peter would _live_ \- he hadn’t checked Peter’s chart for the severity of his wounds, after all, and to do so when he wasn’t directly involved in Peter’s care would be beyond unethical. And even then, _he_ wasn’t the surgeon on Peter’s case, and he certainly couldn’t guarantee the success of Peter’s surgery. He wouldn’t put Strange in the position of living up to his half-baked promises.

Finally, May’s sobs dried themselves out, and she drew back, red-rimmed eyes searching his. “What are you doing here? They said – I thought P-Pete was with a neurosurgeon?”

Tony nodded quickly, pulling May down so he could sit next to her on the couch she’d chosen. “He is. I heard – I heard about the Iron Monger falling and remembered Peter saying he – well.” Tony swallowed, and thankfully May seemed to understand what he couldn’t say, because she squeezed his hand quickly then didn’t let go. Tony gathered himself. “I just...had a feeling, I guess.” He didn’t want to tell her about his spectacular breach of protocol, bursting in on Strange in the middle of an operation like that. But speaking of. “Dr. Strange is the best of the best, though,” Tony quickly reassured her, recalling what he’d been told what felt like eons ago in the doctor’s lounge. “If anyone – if anyone can help him, Dr. Strange can.”

May bowed her head, and Tony saw dark wet spots appear on the woman’s jeans. “Let’s hope.”

What happened next was hours and hours that passed by in what was simultaneously the blink of an eye and decades of his life. Tony stayed with May, breaking away only briefly to tell Friday that she needed to reschedule his afternoon clinic and to tell Pepper he was taking an emergency leave for family business. Pepper hadn’t believed him at first, of course – what family other than his mother would require such attention – but all he’d had to choke out was ‘Peter’ and ‘Iron Monger’ and she’d briskly informed him that he could just let her know when he’d be ready to return, and she’d handle everything else.

God, he loved his friends sometimes. 

And then he’d sat with May, her hand clasped in his, both of them periodically dozing as the waiting room turned over, surgeons whisking away family members to private rooms to inform them of either good news – or bad.

It had been thirteen hours since Tony had first found out, around four in the morning, when Tony was being shaken out of a shallow sleep by May. He blinked his eyes open blearily, gaze landing first on an equally-exhausted looking May before she pointed up, and he looked up to see Dr. Strange looming over them with an inscrutable expression.

“May Parker?” Dr. Strange asked, and May nodded, squeezing his hand so tight Tony would swear he could feel the bones grind together. “Can we go somewhere to discuss your son?”

“He’s my nephew, but I’m his legal guardian,” May corrected quickly, voice gruff with sleep and, likely, the residue of multiple good cries. “Can Tony come?”

And at that, Dr. Strange’s eyebrows raised, and he turned a penetrating gaze on Tony. “You’re friends with Dr. Stark?”

“He’s Peter’s heart doctor. Peter has a congenital heart thing. He had a valve replacement that Tony did,” May said earnestly, and Tony hid a wince.

“Dr. Stark?” Dr. Strange’s tone was judgmental, as well it should be if Tony had been simply trying to worm his way into his patients’ medical lives when they didn’t directly involve him.

“It would be as a family friend, not a doctor,” Tony reassured him quickly. May looked back and forth between the two of them, confused, but then her face cleared.

“Tony’s basically family at this point, really. Peter loves him. He comes over for Thanksgiving every year,” May clarified. “Please, I – I want him there as...as emotional support. He cares about Peter almost as much as I do, I _know_ it.” And Tony resisted the urge to turn to her, wide-eyed, as Dr. Strange’s eyes widened then narrowed, thoughtful and curious at once, before he nodded sharply.

“Follow me.”

The walk was short and quick, one Tony could’ve done in his sleep from how often he’d done it with his own patients’ families. Dr. Strange gestured and they stepped inside, Dr. Strange following and shutting the door behind him. Tony guided May to a chair, then sat in the one beside her, neither of them relinquishing their grip on the other. They turned to face Dr. Strange as one, and he took the chair across from them, looking at them gravely.

“Peter was involved in a very serious accident, as I’m sure you’re both aware,” Dr. Strange started, and May squeezed his hand ever tighter. Tony didn’t grimace at the pain, though, eyes riveted on Dr. Strange. “Falling from that height resulted in a severe traumatic brain injury. He was very, _very_ lucky that that was his only injury, other than some bruising. However, brain injuries are unpredictable and can be devastating. In this case, he ended up with a brain bleed – one that we call an epidural hematoma. It means that some blood was able to leak through one of the layers of his skull and cause some pressure on his brain. We opened up his skull for the surgery and removed everything that was causing problems. We’re hopeful that doing so will help him wake up and recover all functionality – “

“You mean there’s a chance he won’t?” May interrupted, eyes wide and distressed, and Dr. Strange met her eyes with a firm sympathy.

“Yes, Mrs. Parker, there’s a chance he won’t,” he said, and May let out a noise of despair, burying her face against Tony’s chest, and Tony’s arms tightened around her, stroking her back automatically.

“And how great are those chances, doc?” Tony asked, though he knew the answer, had given it to patients of his own.

“We’ll have a better idea over the next 24 to 48 hours,” Dr. Strange responded, and May hiccupped against him.

“He’s – he’s a strong boy,” she said, her voice muffled against Tony’s chest, and Tony made an affirmative noise.

“Yeah, he is. Our boy’s a fighter. He’ll come back to us,” Tony said, projecting a confidence he didn’t feel even as he met Strange’s bright, curious eyes over May’s back.

‘Our boy’? Strange’s lips traced the phrase, meeting Tony’s eyes with baffled concern. But Tony could only squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head, leaning further into May’s embrace. They would take comfort from each other where they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so all of this has been the lead up to a lot of major bullshit (major bullshit *salutes*) so from here on out the chapters might get longer. I say maybe because I don't really plan out lengths, just plot points, but I can't imagine writing what I have planned in less than 7k words. Of course, I thought that with this chapter, and it happened in about 4k because I didn't feel like writing out the surgical aspects like I thought I would. So who knows. Anyway, any requests/recs, lmk!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows about Stephen and Tony. Tony finds out some important truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! be careful in this chapter, it talks about what happened in afghanistan! nothing graphic, but just be warned!

Peter woke up on a Thursday, three days after one of the worst days of Tony's life. 

Tony wasn't there – he'd taken Monday after he'd found out and all of Tuesday off, too terrified and exhausted to even fathom being able to see his patients or perform surgeries. But once his head was mostly clear, he'd been struck by a bone-deep need to _do something_. He'd been like this in his youth, when he'd been restless and prone to inventing binges in the labs – only this time, with lives in the balance, he had to funnel his _focus_ , had to make sure he wasn’t overlooking anything in his need to work.

He still refused to operate. His head wasn’t on straight enough for that, and he and Pepper both knew it.

He’d gone back to work on Wednesday, then spent Wednesday evening with Peter and May. Peter was too small in the starch white hospital bed, monitors beeping in a manner that was simultaneously reassuring and terrifying, knowing that at any moment those readings on the monitor might plummet and there was little they’d be able to do but watch. Peter was pale and silent in a way he would never be in life, stocking-hat covering the incision that had been made on his head and wrapped in a flimsy hospital gown. Tony had never hated the standard sight of a comatose patient more. 

Dr. Strange (and his extensive neurosurgery crew that Tony had completely ignored) had stopped by early on that evening, eyeing Tony inscrutably where Tony was still dressed in his scrubs, white coat draped carelessly on one of the empty, uncomfortable hospital seats, before delivering the evening’s update. He’d done so in a fairly neutral tone, which Tony was grateful for, as much as he kind of wanted to shake the man for more information. But he’d had the same training, he knew his job. Neutral was better than the condolent sympathy the man should display if Peter’s condition was terminal.

He’d gone back to work Thursday, head still a mess but forcing himself to focus in on his patients while he was in the office – and then, when he’d dragged himself out of his clinic, exhausted from the mental and emotional toll of the week to the fourth floor, pushing open the door to a familiar room, prepared to drop into one of the seats when – 

“Dr. Stark!”

That wasn’t May’s voice.

Suddenly wide awake, Tony’s eyes snapped to the hospital bed he’d come to hate in so short a time, almost disbelieving as he met eyes with – 

“Peter!”

He didn’t remember traveling from the doorway to the bed, didn’t remember how he’d wound up with tear tracks down his cheeks, didn’t care about anything except that he and May and Peter were all squeezed onto the bed as Peter snuggled against them, reassuring Tony quickly that he wasn’t having any pain, that _yes of course_ he’d tell him if he was, that _no_ he wasn’t just trying to be brave.

They’d just gotten to the point where Peter was starting to pepper them with questions about what happened when they were interrupted.

“Sorry to disturb you.” A familiar voice sounded from the entryway, and Tony glanced up to see Dr. Strange silhouetted in the doorway, myriad assortment of neurosurgery residents standing slightly behind him. “We were just doing evening rounds and wanted to check in. I heard Mr. Parker woke earlier today?” This was aimed at both May and the nurse, who was standing slightly apart from the group looking vaguely bored.

“He did,” May confirmed, her voice slightly giddy.

“At 3:45,” the nurse added.

“And how has he been doing since? Back to his normal self? Or have you noticed any deficits?” This aimed at May.

May frowned, glancing at Tony. “He’s seemed normal to me.”

Tony nodded, looking at Dr. Strange. “No deficits that I’ve seen so far. Speech, motor, and sensation all seem fine.”

Dr. Strange nodded. “I’ll send one of the residents back to do a full physical later, I’ll leave you to...catch up.” With one last piercing look at Tony, eyeing in particular the way he was squeezed into the bed alongside Peter, Dr. Strange left.

“Wow,” Peter whispered when Dr. Strange had left the room. “He’s really tall. Like _way_ taller than you, Dr. Stark.”

Tony’s mouth popped open as May started cackling. “ _Brat_!”

And thus began a new sort of routine to Tony’s life. He was still on leave from the OR and just doing clinic for now, so he’d get off work, come upstairs, snuggle into bed with Peter and May – or just Peter, if May happened to be away – and they’d chat about Peter’s recovery or his science project that was on hold or whether pistachio ice cream or lemon sorbet was the weirder flavor. Then, at some point, Dr. Strange and his array of neurosurgeons would come and check on them for the evening, stare at Tony like he was an odd puzzle that he couldn’t quite fit together correctly, then leave.

Those looks had lingered more each day, and Tony was even getting some of them when he ran into Strange in the doctor’s lounge. The first time it had happened, Tony had been caught off guard, rubbing at his face and wondering if he had something from his lunch stuck there.

“Dr. Stark,” Strange greeted when he realized he’d been caught staring.

“Dr. Strange,” Tony returned. They continued to stare, Strange with that weird glint in his eye, Tony with confusion.

There was a loud scoff from the other side of the room. “God, do you two ever say anything other than each other’s names?” Tony couldn’t help his jump, turning to see Natasha giving them both an unimpressed glare, Rhodey sitting a few couch cushions down from her, looking up from his lunch-and-sports-section routine with an interested look.

“Sure. We also tell each other dick jokes and discuss conspiracy theories,” Tony quipped. “I’m convinced the moon landing was fake, he thinks the earth is flat, we haven’t found a middle ground yet.” Then his gaze snapped to Strange, wide-eyed when the man _snorted_.

“Quite,” was all Strange said, before the other man turned and left. Tony’s eyes followed him as he left, then turned back to Natasha and Rhodey, the former of whom was still just looking at him with one eyebrow raised, while the latter was looking like Christmas had just come early.

“That was weird, right?” he asked, bewildered. Nat glared at him.

“You’re an idiot.”

The next time he saw Strange, May was present, too, watching as Tony and Peter discussed Peter’s biology homework.

“Studying the cell life cycle? Pretty big concept there,” Dr. Strange said as he stepped into the room, his followers fanning out behind him. 

“That’s a’right, I have Dr. Tony to help me!” Peter said with a bright grin, and Tony laughed and pulled him close, ruffling his hair. He’d been trying to get Peter to call him Tony all week, but Dr. Tony was a step in the right direction. 

“Your brain is big enough all on its own, champ,” he countered, smiling, and Peter beamed, nestling ever closer to him.

“You should listen to him, kid, Dr. Stark is always right,” Dr. Strange chimed in with a small smile on his face that Tony thought was very weird. Why was Dr. Strange smiling in his general direction? Like, ever?

“That’s what we think, too,” May chimed in, and this was more familiar ground. Tony smiled at her, grinned down at Peter.

“Well, Pete, how are we feeling today?” Dr. Strange prompted, and Peter beamed, bouncing up and down on the bed.

“Great! I feel ‘mazing!” Peter enthused. “The nurses brought me a bunch a balloons that they said were from my classmates! Oh, and and, and Dr. Tony said he’d help me with my plant cell model!”

Dr. Strange chuckled. “Sounds like you had a good day. How would you feel about going home, kiddo?”

Peter’s mouth popped open. “Really? ‘Cuz it’s not that I don’ like it here, but home has my comic books an’ stuff, an’ I can wear clothes other than this gown thing.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a deal then,” Dr. Strange said, his eyes twinkling - _twinkling_ , which Tony had _never_ seen them do and could only assume was due to the particular kind of magic Peter had over everyone.

Peter giggled, bouncing up and down in the bed, jarring to the point that Tony laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, holding him more still. “Easy there, sport.”

“Square deal, Dr. Strange! That’s what Dr. Tony says all the time – square deal,” Peter chattered excitedly. “I dunno why, but he likes ta say it!” Dr. Strange just laughed – and who was this jovial, laughing man and where was the testy sourpuss Tony was so used to dealing with? Well, the nurses did say that Dr. Strange’s patients seemed to like him. Maybe this was why.

“Alright, then, Peter. I’ll get out of your hair and let you three get back to it,” Dr. Strange said with one last smile, backing out of the room with his entourage, giving Tony one last small smile as he did so.

As soon as the door closed behind them, May turned to Tony. “Well, he seems nice,” she commented, and Tony rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

“That’s what _you_ think because you’re his patients. Most of the time he’s a giant – “ one quick glance at Peter, and an equally quick amendment – “uh, jerk. But he’s a jerk who’s nice to his patients and knows his way around the OR.” And keeps fucking _smiling_ at him, but Tony decided to keep that to himself, instead proceeding to fake-retch, making Peter giggle.

“That so,” May said, and Tony narrowed his eyes at her suddenly thoughtful tone, at the way she was looking at him with the faintest hint of amusement. “Well, he’s pretty cute.” And Tony started in surprise, staring at her as her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I wonder if he’s single.”

“If you’re looking for me to set you up with him,” Tony said slowly, thoroughly surprised now; Strange didn’t exactly seem like May’s type. But she waved him off quickly.

“Oh, don’t be silly. No, no, I rather think he has his eye on someone anyway.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised, confused. “Nursing gossip?”

And now May was the one rolling her eyes. “No – well, I mean, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” she said, waving a hand about and seeming flustered.

Tony stared at her. “Oooookay.”

May let out a huff of exasperation. “Ugh, boys are hopeless.”

Peter had been looking back and forth as the two adults had volleyed, but now he let out an indignant noise. “Hey! Also what are you talking about?”

Tony thought that was a rather excellent question himself, so he looked at May expectantly, only for her to reach over and pat Peter on the head. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Women. They made no sense.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our resident Lover Boy,” Rhodey drawled from the sofa as Tony entered the lounge, and Tony took a second to flip him off before beelining to the coffee maker.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t been a resident _anything_ in years, and I don’t intend to go back to those hellacious days ever again,” Tony said haughtily, pouring perfect, blessed coffee into a mug. He turned, making his way over to the couches to plop down next to Rhodey, propping his feet up and closing his eyes, prepared to enjoy his sweet, sweet nectar of life.

Rhodey had other ideas – or rather, his statement had opened the floor for people to chime in and thereby generate other ideas.

“Lover Boy? Who’s Stark seducing now? Not another poor nurse?” Clint asked delightedly, leaning forward in his seat, an equally interested-looking Carol on his other side. Or, well, interested-looking for Carol, which mostly meant one perfectly arched eyebrow and otherwise casual body language. Nat was making a similar expression from where she was curled up on the other end of the couch, leaning heavily against Steve, who looked about 0.3 seconds away from having an aneurysm at the skin-on-skin contact.

“Oh no, not seducing, _seduced_ ,” Rhodey corrected gleefully.

“Really, honeybear, if you wanted to confess your undying love to me, you could’ve done it more privately. Not much we can do to consummate the occasion here,” Tony said, gesturing grandly at their audience. His best friend’s face twisted immediately into disgust, and then Tony was being elbowed, and precious lifeblood was getting spilled as Tony let out a noise of outrage, shifting forward and guarding his mug in attempt to minimize spillage.

“What the fuck, man?” Tony and Rhodey demanded at the same time, turning identical expressions of indignation on each other.

“Dude, you cannot be mad at me, you just insinuated we would, like –“ Rhodey made an uncomfortable gesture.

“Fuck, sugarbear. I insinuated we would fuck,” Tony said sweetly, though his free hand went to his coffee protectively just in case. Rhodey made a disgusted noise, and Tony continued, “Use your big boy words, I know you’re old enough to have had the sex talk, sweetums.”

“God, it’s like talking about having sex with my _brother_ , that’s so gross,” Rhodey groaned, and Tony snickered, remembering saying something similar about Nat not too long ago.

“Yeah, man, too far,” Clint concurred, and Tony stuck his tongue out at the ophthalmologist.

“Don’t leave us hanging, Rhodes – what’re you calling Tony Lover Boy for?” Carol prompted, and Tony turned to glare at her. She smirked at him unrepentantly – and honestly, Tony kind of wanted to know too. But like, preferably without an audience listening to Rhodey’s answer.

“What? Stark fell in love?” Bucky Barnes asked incredulously as he strode into the lounge, smirking at the lot of them, Thor following directly behind him. “Did Hell freeze over? Have we reached Armageddon? Is it time for the zombie apocalypse? Does that mean I can break out the leather bondage outfits? I always wanted to wear a shit ton of kinky-looking clothing for ‘practical purposes.’” 

“Ah, are we to be celebrating another union here at No Mercy West?” Thor asked, grinning widely, and everyone perked up except Bucky, who froze.

“ _Another_ union?” Steve asked, seeming to be steadily edging away from Natasha while trying to look like he wasn’t steadily edging away from Natasha. “Who was the first one?”

“Don’t do it, big guy,” Bucky muttered, and Thor boomed out his laughter, clapping him on the shoulder and steering him forward toward empty spots on the couches, where they both flopped down, Bucky with the expression of someone being led to his doom.

“Nonsense, my friend, our friends should share in your happiness,” Thor said, eyes crinkling with the force of his smile, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. “Friend Bucky has invited the one he has been pining for out for a romantic evening together!”

The room erupted.

“I knew you could do it, Buck!”

“Wow, I can’t believe Sam said yes. There goes my respect for the guy.”

“ _Finally_ , dumbass.”

“Congrats, idiot.”

“And here I thought Sam had good taste.” 

“Thanks for the support, guys,” Bucky said drily, and Thor chortled. Tony was fairly certain the man just liked to make a bit of trouble. Having heard some of the stories about his brother, he’d guess the trait ran in the family.

“Where are you gonna take him on your date, Buck?” Steve asked eagerly, and Bucky rolled his eyes, slugging the man on the shoulder.

“’m not sure, punk, I only just asked him. Hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

Natasha tsked from Steve’s other side, looking exceedingly judgmental for someone currently curled around her coffee mug like it was a baby in need of protection. Not that Tony had a leg to stand on there. “How are you supposed to sweep him of his feet if you haven’t planned anything?”

Bucky shrugged. “I dunno, it’s not like it’s tonight or anything. I have time.”

“When is it, then?” Rhodey prompted, and Bucky winced ever-so-slightly.

“...tomorrow night.”

He was booed via general consensus.

“Come on, Buck, you’re better than that,” Steve chided in his Disappointed Dad voice, and the rest of the room was nodded while Bucky was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “You’ve been pining for ages, you gotta actually plan this date out. I don’t want to have to put up with you bemoaning losing your chance for the next six months just because you didn’t put enough thought into your date.”

“Hey, weren’t we talking about Stark? There was something about some world-ending news when I was walking into the room,” he said desperately, and now Tony was glaring at _him_. Seriously, what was with people selling him out today?

“Traitor,” he accused, and Bucky grinned victoriously as everyone’s eyes shifted back to Tony.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right – Rhodes, you were gonna tell us about Tony’s new fling,” Clint said eagerly, and Rhodey was looking like the cat that caught the canary, now, leaning back in the couch next to Tony, the picture of ease. Tony kind of wanted to dump his coffee on him, but that would be a waste of perfectly good coffee.

“Well, a little birdy told me that a certain neurosurgeon who managed to get on our shit lists by disliking our boy for no good reason other than his less-than-stellar personality – “

“Hey!”

“ – is apparently singing a different tune these days,” Rhodey said, his tone all smug satisfaction. There were encouraging noises from all members of the audience except Tony, who was debating who was the traitor in his midst. Was it Friday? He’d send her to work as a nurse in one of those terrible health services centers at a community college. “Apparently, this neurosurgeon defended Tony’s honor at a conference – “

“What honor?” Tony wondered.

“ – kept him sane during his kid’s surgery – “

“Peter is not my kid.”

“ – and has been, by all reports, smitten with Tony every time he’s been in his kid’s hospital room.”

“Again, not my kid. And also? Smitten? Have you even met the guy? He doesn’t do smitten.”

“All in all,” Rhodey continued as though the interruptions had never happened, “we’re seeing a serious contender for Tony’s cold little iron heart, here.”

“I resent that, really, I do,” Tony deadpanned. “If my heart was made of metal, it would _not_ be iron, it would be something way better. An alloy of some sort.”

“Wait so you’re saying Strange and Tony have a thing now?” Carol clarified, tone disbelieving, and Rhodey turned a shit-eating grin in her direction.

“We do not have a thing!”

“Oh, they definitely have a thing.”

Tony glared at Rhodey. Ineffectually, so it seemed, as the smile didn’t leave Rhodey’s face.

“Huh, well what do you know, I said they’d either hate each other instantly or get along like a house on fire, and I was right on both counts,” Clint mused, grinning like a madman.

“We don’t have a thing!” Tony insisted again, but was summarily ignored as his ~~friends~~ _traitors_ started loudly discussing with one another how much brain damage Strange must have to find Tony attractive.

“Who has brain damage?” came a familiar, dreaded, _absolutely should not be here right now_ voice from the doorway. Seriously. Worst timing ever.

Tony resolutely did not turn around to look. Based on the wicked grins on the others’ faces, he didn’t think that was going to help him much.

“No one, no one,” Clint said quickly, a glint in his eye that Tony didn’t trust. “Say, you’ve been here for a while now – been getting into the dating game much?”

Tony couldn’t see Strange’s expression, but he’d imagine it was somewhere in the realm of _bemused_ or _unamused_. “Not as such,” Strange said evenly, and Tony almost jumped at how much closer his voice sounded. And then Strange was in his line of vision, looking down at him and Rhodey on the couch.

“Hello Dr. Stark, Dr. Rhodes,” he said politely, his eyes briefly jumping to Rhodey before returning to Tony. “Mind if I sit here?” He pointed to the empty couch cushion beside Tony.

“Not at all,” Rhodey answered quickly before Tony could get a word in, and when Tony glanced at him, he was grinning evilly. Strange didn’t seem to notice, because he just nodded and sat, and then Tony was focusing _very very hard_ on making sure not one inch of their skin touched, almost holding his breath with the effort of both that and trying to ignore his suddenly wandering thoughts. Had Strange always smelled this good?

The rest of the room were watching them like they were something fascinating on TV, except for Steve, who still looked disconcerted by his and Natasha’s skin on skin contact. Strange didn’t seem to notice anything off, because he just looked around and said evenly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt a conversation.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Natasha responded quickly. “We were just discussing love lives.”

“Yeah, so how about you, Dr. Strange,” Bucky chimed in, leaning forward eagerly. “You got one?”

Tony tried not to face-palm.

“Call me Stephen, please,” Strange said with a raise of one eyebrow. “And I do not.”

“No? There’s no one special in your life?” Rhodey pressed, leaning around Tony to look at Strange, who looked at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Not at this moment, no,” Strange answered.

Tony clapped his hands together loudly. “Welp, he’s answered your creepy questions, so maybe let’s move on now.”

“Oh sure,” Carol said sweetly, and Tony knew he was well and truly fucked. “What about you, Tony? Got your eye on someone?”

“I’m about to put _out_ someone’s eye,” Tony growled, glaring at her. She smirked.

“Come now, Anthony, romance is something to be celebrated,” Thor said jovially, and Tony threw his hands up.

“You know what? I’m out of here,” he snapped, shooting to his feet and stomping away, leaving Rhodey to deal with his dirty coffee mug. The asshole deserved it.

“Dr. Stark, wait.” Hearing Strange’s voice behind him accompanied by the sound of footsteps pursuing him was unexpected enough to make Tony hesitate just long enough for Strange to catch up with him.

“Tony,” Tony said automatically, and that drew Strange (and Tony, if he was being honest) up short, surprise flashing through those ice blue eyes. Well, in for a penny. “Call me Tony, please.”

“Tony,” Strange tested the name out, then smiled slightly, and Tony caught himself smiling back just a little. “Mind if I walk with you?”

Surprised, Tony blinked. “Sure. Uh, I was just headed out for the day, actually. Already saw Peter, was just stopping by here to say bye to everyone.”

Strange only nodded, gesturing for Tony to continue, which he did with Strange falling into step beside him. “Peter seems very attached to you,” Strange commented, and Tony squinted at him, trying to get a read on his tone. Was he disapproving? Warning Tony off?

“Yeah, the feeling’s pretty mutual,” Tony admitted with a shrug. They passed through the halls, nurses dashing by at the patients’ beck and call, one of whom was swearing viciously under his breath.

“Yes, I can see that.” They were nearing the entrance now, and Strange’s eyes bored into Tony’s as the other man shifted almost – was that _nervously_? Why would Strange be nervous? He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. “I misjudged you, Tony, and for that I apologize.”

Tony fairly gaped at him in shock, Strange’s gaze never wavered, but the nervousness there started to fade into amusement the longer Tony stared at him. Finally, Tony recovered the use of his words. “Um, it’s okay, I – uh, I get it, people have always done that, don’t worry about it,” Tony babbled, flopping a hand around in a gesture intended to wave the matter away but mostly looked flustered. Strange smiled more genuinely. They were just standing in the entrance now, Tony with one hand on the door and still gaping like a bumbling idiot and Strange smiling that weird smile that Tony didn’t know what it meant at him.

Yeah, okay, this was weird and that meant it was time for Tony to run the fuck away. “Uh, so, um thank you for the apology, I’m gonna – “ He jerked his thumb at the door, pushing it open as he did so, only for Strange to catch his other hand.

“Tony, I wanted to ask you – “

But whatever Strange had wanted to ask was immediately drowned out by the cacophony that all but slammed into them, and Tony jerked, gaze tearing away from Strange to see what could be making all that noise.

What greeted him was a scene that was practically an old memory, one straight out of his days as Tony Fucking Stark. A veritable herd of reporters had surrounded the door in an instant, cameras flashing and microphones being shoved in his face as questions were all but screamed at him. Tony blinked, staggering backwards, only to be held up by Stephen, who was surveying the crowd with a calm confusion. Yeah, Tony could second the confusion. Maybe not the calmness, though.

“Dr. Stark, have you – “

“ – Stane was brought – “

“ – any word from your father – “

“Dr. Stark, how do you feel – “

“No comment,” Tony said quickly and loudly, pulling on the old mask like a well-worn shirt. His shoulders straightened, his face closed off, and he affected an arrogant look as he started pushing his way through the horde. There was a hand latched on to the back of his shirt, and he turned to give a reporter a tongue lashing for touching him – but it was Strange, who gave him a firm look that said he wasn’t going to be dissuaded from following. Well, then. Tony continued to push his way through, ignoring the reporters’ questions and the microphones in his face, until – 

“You really have nothing to say about Stane’s arrest for illegally selling weapons under the table and attempted murder? _Your_ attempted murder?” one of the reporters called out incredulously, and Tony came to a complete halt.

Wait.

_What?_

He spun around, utter shock making his mask fall. “What did you just say?”

The reporter, a slimy-looking middle-aged man, smirked at having caught his attention. The rest of the reporters had gone quiet, hanging on to every word. “You can’t pretend like you didn’t know,” the reporter scoffed. “The investigation was kept quiet, but you’re a _Stark_. Is that why you left the company? The double dealing and your attempted murder?”

“I left the company because what happened in Afghanistan changed my perspective on how to do good in the world,” Tony answered absently, mind unable to process the reporter’s words, the words simply not making sense. “What are you talking about, double dealing? And Obie trying to kill me? Nobody’s tried to kill me except some terrorists.”

The reporter raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, because Stane paid them to.”

Tony reeled back. “You’re lying,” he said numbly. He and Obadiah may not be close anymore, but he wouldn’t pay to have Tony _killed._ “Obadiah was like a second father to me growing up, he wouldn’t – he’d never do that.”

Tony felt like his own words were coming from a million miles away, his world fairly crashing down around him. He and Obadiah weren’t close anymore thanks to him leaving SI – in fact, Tony had come to dread seeing him almost as much as seeing Howard – but they _had_ been close at the time he’d been kidnapped. Obadiah had been the one Tony could lean on when Howard was being an ass, had come to all of his award shows, had _encouraged_ him as a kid when Howard mostly just ignored him. Before their falling out over Tony’s decision to go to med school, Obadiah had been second only to Jarvis as a true father figure.

“He did,” the reporter confirmed. “They found proof on his laptop. A video of some sort.”

Tony paled, knowing _exactly_ what video they must have had. He remembered every second of it, of the bag been pulled off his head, of staring into the camera with dried blood that wasn’t his own splattered everywhere, of not knowing if he’d ever go home.

There was no telling what expression he was making, but then Stephen was there, looking at him carefully, and Tony couldn’t quite bring him into focus, spiraling, spiraling away into that cave where _his godfather had put him_. As though through a very long tube, Tony head Stephen talking. “That’s enough questions. Good day.” And the reporters exploded into noise at that, but Stephen was leading him away on leaden feet with a hand against his back. Tony was ushered into a car that wasn’t his own, and then they were speeding away.

It was quiet for a moment, Tony just stared blankly ahead, before Stephen said in a soothing voice, “Tony, I know you’ve had a shock, but I need you to tell me where you live so I can take you home.”

Tony said nothing. Stephen sighed, though he didn’t seem upset, more worried. Tony lost time as they drove, and then they were pulling up to a modern looking house. Stephen got out of the car and came around to Tony’s side as if to help him, but Tony was already standing. With a small, worried smile, Stephen guided Tony into the house – Stephen’s house, Tony thought absently, wishing he felt curious enough to look around – and sat him on a couch.

“I’m going to make you some tea, okay?” Stephen said gently, and Tony would usually have bristled, but it didn’t feel patronizing. And he was too numb to care all that much. “I’ll be in the other room, if you need anything.”

And then Tony was alone, staring at nothing. Stephen returns after a while, handing Tony the hot beverage, and Tony takes it, sips it on autopilot as Stephen sat down beside him. Tony waited for the other man to question him, to ask what had happened, or to at least demand to know why Tony was acting the way he was, but Stephen just sat silently beside him, sipping his own tea.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be there that day,” Tony said suddenly, still staring straight ahead. Stephen turned to look at him, but didn’t speak, waiting. “Howard – my dad – he was the one who was supposed to give the presentation in Afghanistan. But then something came up last minute, and I was the one who’d designed the Jericho anyway, so they sent me instead.”

He took a deep breath, wondering how different his life would’ve been if he hadn’t been there that day. “You ever seen someone die in front of you? And I don’t mean in the OR – that’s a sterile environment, not, not like this. Not like when someone dies because people are trying to kill them. They used Stark weapons to do it, too. I guess it makes sense now, how they got their hands on them.” Tony laughed, and the sound came out almost hysterical. “I probably designed some of the very tools that were used to kill those soldiers. Soldiers who died to protect a seventeen-year-old entitled brat with too much intelligence and not enough common sense.

“The video that reporter mentioned – I couldn’t understand what they were saying when they shot it. They just had me sitting in a chair, Stark guns in all of their hands, staring into a camera. I thought it was a ransom demand, but I guess if it was sent to Obie then I must be wrong.” Tony’s voice broke on Obadiah’s name.

“Tony,” Stephen said, his voice low and comforting, sliding a hand over one of Tony’s and just holding it there. Tony still stared forward, but he leaned into the touch.

“They wanted me to build for them. They had a huge stockpile of Stark Industries weapons and wanted me to use those to make them a Jericho.” Tony laughed, the sound hollow. “Like I was going to do that. But they tried to persuade me – torture, and all that. Bucket of water, dunking me over and over again." Stephen made a pained noise, but Tony ignored him. "Any breath could’ve been my last. I still have dreams about it sometimes. Can’t take a bath or swim in a pool, even after all this time. I knew I’d either break or they’d kill me, so I pretended to break and made a plan instead.

“They kept us in a cave – me and another captive, Yinsen – he was a doctor. He was what kept me sane on the bad days, the ones where I doubted that my plan would work, when I just _knew_ we were going to die in those caves.” Tony sighed heavily, feeling a thousand years old. “He died during the escape. He told me ‘don’t waste your life’ and then I held him while the light faded from his eyes.

“I killed them all.” And his voice is cold. Tony half-expects Stephen to pull away, but he doesn’t, holds on even tighter if anything. “I guess I didn’t have to. I could’ve just run. But they’d killed Yinsen. They’d tortured us both. And they’d killed so many others. So I killed them.” He smiled, but it wasn’t happy.

“Probably should’ve had a better plan for _after_ I got out, because I just wandered around the desert for hours. I thought I’d die out there, but then – then this military helicopter flew over and happened to find me. Or I guess ‘happened to’ is the wrong phrase. They were investigating the explosion I’d left behind.

“I came home and told everyone I was done making weapons, that I was out. You can imagine how well Howard and Obie took that.” Tony chuckled humorlessly. “That was the beginning of the end for me and Obie. Before that – before that, he’d been like a dad to me, much more than Howard ever had. I – “ Tony’s voice cracked on the beginnings of a sob, and Stephen was there, wrapping his arms around Tony and pulling the smaller man to his chest. “I just want to know _why_. Why would he do that? To me?”

Stephen didn’t answer, just held Tony while he cried. Long moments passed with Tony getting Stephen’s shirt progressively damper and Stephen simply quietly holding him. “Do you know what I think?” Stephen said eventually as Tony’s shoulders shook against him, the rumble of his voice in his chest vibrating against Tony. Tony shook his head no. “I think you’re unbelievably strong, to have gone through that and still be able to show such compassion and kindness.”

And at that, Tony drew back, startled, to look into cool blue eyes that held an emotion Tony couldn’t define. And Tony was mesmerized, couldn’t look away if he tried, the air feeling charged between them, the moment stretching over infinity, and they – 

BRRRRIIIIING!

The sound of a phone ringing startled them, breaking whatever – whatever _that_ had been. Tony glanced down, feeling his phone vibrate in his pants, and took the device out. ‘Howard’ was displayed across the screen, and Tony wanted nothing more than to throw the phone against a wall.

“I should take this,” he said quietly, and Stephen nodded, leaning back.

Tony took a deep breath and picked up the call. “Yes?” he said tersely.

“Tony,” Howard practically growled, and Tony knew that whatever Howard had to say, he was being blamed for something.

“That would be the number you called,” he snarked, knowing and not caring that it would only piss Howard off more.

“Don’t get cute with me. I saw your little interview with that reporter. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Tony gritted his teeth. “I _wasn’t_ thinking because I was being _ambushed_ with the news that my _godfather_ had tried to _kill me_. You’ll have to forgive me if my ability to remain calm after hearing that news from a bunch of _reporters_ with no warning whatsoever.”

“I know you know better than that,” Howard barked into the phone. “Besides, why do you even care? You don’t even spend time around Obadiah much these days.”

Tony stared at his phone incredulously. “Howard, that man was more of a father to me growing up than you were. We were still close when I was seventeen. And he apparently had me _kidnapped by terrorists_. We may not be cozy these days, but that’s still a lot to fucking process.”

“Well, process faster next time,” Howard snarled. “We don’t need more bad press. The media’s already making a fucking stink about the fact that you didn’t know. Acting like I had some sort of responsibility to give you a heads up.”

“Yeah, well, a heads up sure would’ve been nice about my almost-murderer, and it definitely would’ve solved this current dilemma,” Tony snapped sarcastically. “How long have you known?”

There was an annoyed huff on the other end. “I don’t know, a while now. We’ve been gathering evidence to put Obadiah away for a while, you can’t expect me to remember when we uncovered every little thing.”

Tony _almost_ let it go, almost snarked something about how _surely he’d remember if it was his son_ , but there was something in Howard’s voice that made him hesitate. Howard was... _defensive_. Howard didn’t _do_ defensive. Irritated, sure. Caustic, of course. But not defensive. Defensive meant that there was a potential fault that he needed to defend, and Howard was confident that he didn’t have any of those.

“Howard,” Tony said, a sense of calm before a storm sweeping through him. “How long have you known that Obadiah tried to have me killed?”

Howard blustered. “I just told you, how should I know, I’m dealing with a lot of other shit right now! You can’t expect me to keep track of shit just because it’s related to _you_. But of course you _would_ be so self-centered.”

Tony closed his eyes, filled with a horrible certainty. “ _You_ were supposed to go to Afghanistan for that presentation.”

Silence on the other end. Stephen, who Tony had honestly forgotten was in the room, gripped his hand tightly.

Tony continued, “You were supposed to go, not me. I was a last minute substitution.”

Still nothing.

“I wasn’t the one Obie was trying to kill. It was _you_.”

And finally, Howard spoke. “You’re deluded, boy. Seeing conspiracies where there are none.”

But Tony shook his head, though Howard couldn’t see him. “It doesn’t make sense to kill me, what would Obie gain from that? But if he killed _you_ , he could take over the business. There would be less of a chance of someone looking over his shoulder and noticing that some weapons had gone missing. Obie wanted to kill you. And you knew that and sent me instead.”

The silence this time was poignant, full and yet empty at the same time because Tony felt drained, felt like a puppet with its strings cut, felt _so tired_.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” And if it came out like he was begging, well, he felt like he could be forgiven for that.

But Howard didn’t. “You needed manning up. You’d been coming to us with all these clean energy ideas or new robotics inventions, and you’d stopped spending as much time on weapons. I decided to show you _why_ it was so important for us to make weapons. To show you the kind of people we were trying to fight.”

And _God_ did Tony laugh at that. “They used Stark weapons, Howard. Those terrorists? They all used Stark weapons. So you showed me the exact opposite. You showed me _we_ were the enemy, _Stark Industries_ was the enemy.”

“That’s on Obadiah, not on weapons developers!”

“It’s on you if you’ve known about it for at least _seventeen years_ and are just now doing something about it!”

“We just now accumulated enough evidence to convict him!”

“Yeah, well, you certainly didn’t go out of your way to stop him from double dealing and kidnapping and killing in the meantime, did you?” Tony snarled.

“ _You don’t talk to me like that, boy_.”

“I talk to you however I want. Because I’m done with you. You’re as culpable for my kidnapping as Obie, so I’m finished with you. Don’t come near me again.” He paused, gathered himself. “And I don’t believe what you said earlier, about switching us out for the Afghanistan trip to toughen me up. You know what I think? I think you’re just a coward.”

And he hung up and burst into tears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and friends have some fluffy fun times, then we get back to our regularly scheduled angst and important talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic might end up being 8 chapters tbh, I'm not positive D:
> 
> also I promise more fluff and Stephen/Tony to come!!!

It took a while before he was calm enough to feel embarrassed about his breakdown in front of Stephen, but he eventually got there, wiping his eyes and sniffling.

“S-sorry, I’m overstaying my welcome. I can call someone to pick me up,” Tony said, his voice wobbling dangerously, and Stephen gave him a look like he was an idiot.

“You’re not to do anything but sit here and feel better,” he said sternly. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You can’t pull that on me, I’m a doctor too,” Tony grumbled more on principle than anything, and Stephen smiled slightly, rubbing Tony’s back. And Tony blinked, realizing just how _close_ he and Stephen had gotten. Tony was practically in Stephen’s lap, and they were pressed against each other in a way that suggested they’d been inching steadily into this position. “Um. Sorry about...” Tony trailed off, then gestured vaguely, and Stephen rolled his eyes.

“If I did not wish to be here, then I wouldn’t be,” he said simply, and Tony felt his heart flutter a little. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. He opened his mouth, not sure what was going to come out, when his phone rang again. He hesitated, entirely unwilling to talk to all but a few select people, but thankfully the caller ID read ‘Platypus.’

“Hey sugarbear,” Tony greeted when he picked up, aiming for flippant and mostly just sounding shaky.

“Tones, are you okay?” Rhodey asked gently, concern lacing his voice, and Tony smiled weakly. “I’ve been knocking on your door for the past five minutes. Did you make it home alright?”

“I’m fine, muffin. I’m at Stephen’s house – he, uh, he helped me out when the reporters ambushed us on the way out of the hospital.”

There was a silence on the other end for a moment. “Stephen’s house? Like, _Stephen Strange_ Stephen?”

Tony laughed uncomfortably, aware of Stephen’s eyes on him. “Do we know any other Stephens?”

“...right. Well, do you need me to come get you?”

“No, no, I’m alright. Stephen’s been really great. I might want some Rhodey snuggles tomorrow, though, if you’re up for it?”

“Always, Tones,” Rhodey said immediately. “Just tell me when to be there and I’ll come.”

“Thanks, care bear.”

“Pepper said to take some time off till the media circus dies down, by the way,” Rhodey added before Tony could hang up, and Tony sighed. It made sense, and he really wasn’t in the state of mind to be handling patients right now – but damn, he could’ve used some work to get his mind off this.

“Tell her thanks from me, will you?”

“Sure thing. Take care of yourself, Tones.”

“I always do,” Tony assured him, and he heard Rhodey’s snort even as he hung up. He frowned at his phone, though Rhodey couldn’t see it. 

“Is the cavalry coming?” Stephen asked, and Tony turned to see a small smile on the other man’s lips.

“No, I kept them at bay. You don’t want them coming here, they’ll storm the castle just for a good look around your house,” Tony assured him, and Stephen smirked.

“Curious about me in particular? Or just nosy?”

“Both,” Tony admitted. “You’re a novelty, you know. No Mercy West doesn’t hire new physicians all that often. I think the last new one was...Lang, maybe?”

“Lang?”

“Yeah, Scott Lang. He’s a pediatrician.”

“Ah, I don’t think I’ve met him,” Stephen said. 

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, probably not, he doesn’t come to the lounge all that often.”

Stephen hummed. “Any other reason they’d be so curious?” he asked with an almost-knowing raise of his eyebrow.

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They seem inordinately interested in my love life in particular,” Stephen said drily. “Any particular reason for that?”

Tony froze, feeling like he probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh, you know how it is – Clint’s a huge gossip and Nat likes to know everything about everyone. She does this great impression of an omnipotent goddess. You should see it sometime. It’s terrifying,” Tony babbled, and Stephen ducked his head like he was hiding a smirk.

“That so?”

“Yup. That’s No Mercy West for ya – nosy nosy nosy.”

Tony could feel his face heating up, and not just because of how idiotic he was sure he sounded. Stephen looked at him carefully, and then his expression turned rueful for a moment before his face closed up ever-so-slightly.

“We should get you home,” he said, his voice soft as he stood, and – oh, why was Tony a little disappointed? He shook it off, standing too.

“Right, sure, you probably have loads to do, and I’ve definitely stayed too long, I’m sorry about that. I can just call Rhodey back to come pick me up – “

“That’s not necessary,” Stephen interrupted, and Tony couldn’t get a read on the other man’s expression. “I’ll drive you.”

“You really don’t have to,” Tony protested. “You’ve already done _more_ than enough for me today.”

“I want to.”

“...okay.”

The drive home was quiet, but in a comfortable sort of way, where Tony didn’t feel like he needed to fill the silence – it just _was_. They pulled into Tony’s house, Tony keeping an eye out for any paparazzi who might’ve gotten his home address – but it was thankfully clear as Stephen rolled to a stop.

“Thank you for...well, for all of that. For helping me,” Tony said awkwardly, unable to find the words to encompass just how much Stephen had helped.

“Of course,” Stephen said warmly, and Tony could honestly say he felt like Stephen really meant it. God, this day had not gone _at all_ like he’d expected. 

“Right, well, I’ll just, uh, go now.” For the second time that day, he fumbled through an attempt to leave, and Stephen only smiled.

“You do that.”

And Tony stepped out of the car, shut the door, and watched as Stephen backed out of the driveway, watching until Stephen’s taillights disappeared around a corner, feeling like he’d missed an opportunity for some indefinable reason.

It was weeks before the news had died down enough that Tony felt safe stepping outside of his house. Coverage of the scandal had been _insane_ , with people speculating how much Howard had known and for how long, or whether Tony had been in on it, or what had _really_ made Tony leave the weapons business.

Tony had forgotten just how much the world loved to hate him in the seventeen years he’d had out of the spotlight, but he was reminded quickly by the initial speculations. The initial opinions of most news outlets were that Tony and Howard had both known and _that_ was the real reason Tony was kidnapped and later left the industry. However, the tides of the fickle press turned when the footage of his ‘ransom’ video was leaked on the second day. The translation scrolled across the bottom of the screen, and Tony watched through dead eyes as the men holding him demanded a higher price in order to actually _kill_ him. It seemed that even the rabid media couldn’t take the sight of a shivering, terrified seventeen-year-old surrounded by terrorists and demonize him.

Suddenly, he was everyone’s sweetheart, the innocent victim of a power-hungry madman. The press, who hadn’t been all that interested when he’d gone to medical school, was suddenly falling all over themselves talking about how ‘he’d taken the darkness he experienced at the hands of his godfather and turned it into a pursuit of nobler purposes’ and ‘he’d turned his back on death and instead set out to preserving life’ and other fluffy bullshit like that. It was the kind of redemption story that everyone _loved_ , and the media fashioned him into a hero and a champion as Tony watched in darkness, curled up on his couch and staring numbly at a glowing screen.

He hated it.

Hated that he was getting calls and voicemails from people who suddenly wanted to write his biography, who wanted to interview him about Afghanistan and what came after, who wanted his name on their foundations for charities about second chances.

Hated that people were sharing stories online about what a wonderful doctor he was, how caring, how _compassionate_.

Hated watching the world vilify him one day then romanticize him the next and knowing that the reverse could happen in a split second.

Hated that he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much about how the world felt about him knowing what Howard and Obadiah had done. 

He was going to have to relive Afghanistan now, he knew. There was no way he wouldn’t be called as a witness, not when _his_ attempted murder was one of the charges against Obie. He’d have to relive it in front of the entire world, give them that piece of himself that he’d shared only with those he trusted. He hadn’t even told his _mother_ about what had happened – his mother, who he’d only been able to have brief conversations with on the phone, stolen moments since she’d been so busy rushing around trying to help his father put out Obadiah’s fires. 

He felt like he was going mad in this house, but Pepper had apologetically said the paps were still too crazy outside the hospital, and she worried someone would get hurt if he tried to come in to work. 

Halfway through the second week of his solitary confinement, as he tried not to think of it, he was startled by a knock on the door. Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced through the peephole warily, then opened the door. “What are you all doing here?” he asked incredulously.

“Movie night,” Clint said as though it was obvious, waving around some DVDs and nearly clocking Carol in the head.

“Hey, watch it, birdbrain!”

“I have brought popcorn,” Thor announced.

“And I brought chocolate,” Rhodey chimed in.

“And I brought wine,” Natasha added.

Tony stared at them, and at Pepper and Bruce and _Stephen_ who were all hovering on his doorstep, choking down tears.

“C’mon man, you gonna invite us in?” Clint pressed impatiently, and Tony jolted.

“Oh, of course, please come in,” Tony said quickly, stepping aside so they could all pass. Clint bounded inside, followed by an eager Thor and quiet Bruce. Carol ruffled his hair as she passed, ignoring his indignant squawk, and Pepper pressed a kiss to his forehead, followed by Nat’s kiss to his cheek.

“I’m not kissing you, man,” Rhodey said, socking him on the arm as he went in, and then it was him and Stephen, who was looking down at him with a fond smile.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing your party. The others were discussing it in the lounge and invited me,” he murmured, and Tony shook his head quickly.

“Of course not, I’m glad you’re here.” He was surprised to find how true that was. Stephen only smiled.

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

A moment, and then Stephen stepped further inside. “Are you coming, Tony?”

Tony mentally shook himself. “Yeah, of course, sorry, I’m, uh, a little out of it I guess.”

Was it just him, or were Stephen’s eyes twinkling? “Sure, Tony.”

“Ugh, Tony, do you ever clean this place?” Clint’s voice called from the living room, and Tony forcefully pulled himself out of whatever this was and strode forward.

“I’ve had a bad week, gimme a break,” Tony complained as he entered the room. The others had already commandeered the couches, sans Thor, who appeared to be making popcorn in the kitchen if the little bullet-like noises were anything to go by. Nat was perched on one of the armrests, and Pepper and Rhodey were practically in each other’s laps. Tony squinted at them speculatively, and Pepper, noticing his attentions, winked. He smiled and shook his head, taking a seat.

“Still, that’s no excuse for the lack of personal hygiene from Earth’s Mightiest Hero,” Carol said with a sniff at some of the dirty paper towels on one end of the couch. Oh yeah, that’s where he’d spilled his microwavable mac-n-cheese a couple of days ago and had wiped it up.

He wasn’t feeling all that embarrassed about it until Stephen sat down beside him, and he realized this was the first time Stephen was seeing his place. And that he actually cared what Stephen thought of his place. For some reason. 

“You try having every news station dissect every detail of your life all day every day for a week and see how you feel,” Tony protested, then paused. “Wait, _Earth’s Mightiest Hero_? Please tell me you’re making that up.” If it sounded like he was begging, that was because he was.

“Nay, friend,” Thor said amusedly as he strode into the room with huge bucketfuls of popcorn. “It appears the world has seen the greatness of your deeds and the goodness of your heart and has seen fit to bestow upon you a title worthy of your honor.”

Jesus, sometimes Tony wondered if Thor had walked straight out of some collection of myths or something.

“Seriously? For what, deciding making weapons was not what I wanted to do?” Tony asked incredulously. And rhetorically, but Rhodey had to go and ruin that.

“No, man. For rescuing _yourself_ from a cave full of terrorists in Afghanistan and then coming back, standing by your principles and refusing to make weapons, and then going on to save lives.”

Tony, for once, was speechless. “There are _definitely_ people out there who deserve that title way more than me.”

“Oh, for sure,” Pepper agreed, eyes twinkling. “But you know how the media likes to sensationalize things. No doubt in a week or two they’ll have dropped you down to America’s Best Champion and then to New York’s Okayest Person.”

Tony glared at her, inwardly grateful. “Thanks for the support.”

“Anytime, dear.”

“But if you think we’re ever letting you live it down, you’d be wrong,” Clint grinned cheekily, and Tony accepted a bowl of popcorn from Thor with a polite thank you then proceeded to throw some of its contents at Clint.

“Hey! Cut it out!”

“Ooh, does this mean food fight?”

“No! No food fights!”

“It’s like I’m babysitting a bunch of _children_.”

Tony watched as his friends bickered back and forth, a small smile crossing his face for the first time in what felt like decades but was really only a few days. 

“I like your friends,” Stephen murmured in his ear, and Tony turned to look at him, but his response caught in his throat. Stephen’s face was closer than expected, eyes of melted ice boring into his intently, shimmering, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, mouth tugged into the slightest smirk, and now Tony was looking at his lips and – nope nope, bad Tony, no looking at Stephen’s lips. Except that he still kinda was, and when his eyes darted up for a split second, he caught Stephen doing much the same.

“Oi, lovebirds, either get a room or watch the movie with us,” Carol called, and Tony snapped backwards, face burning in a way he knew meant he’d gone immediately beet-red.

“Shut up, Carol,” Tony grumbled, his voice coming out at a slightly higher pitch than normal, but he was under a lot of stress and all so that was understandable, really. 

“Ooh, good one,” Clint teased, and Tony stuck his tongue out at him.

“Alright, boys, that’s enough,” Natasha said, amusement coloring her tone. “We have to pick a movie.”

“I’m voting for Fast & Furious!” Clint said immediately.

“Aye, I will second Clinton’s vote,” Thor declared, and there wasa. groan from some of the others in the room.

“C’mon, we’ve watched Fast & Furious like eighteen times,” Tony complained.

“And it gets better every time,” Clint said smugly.

“No, it doesn’t,” Carol deadpanned.

“Can I suggest the nature documentary I brought?” Bruce piped up from where he was curled in a corner of the couch, quietly observing them all.

“You may not,” Rhodey told him.

“Don’t be mean to my science bro!” Tony exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Rhodey. He turned to Bruce, affecting wide, earnest eyes. “Of course, you can suggest it, Brucie Bear. We may laugh at you, but you can suggest it.”

Bruce huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Tony. Knew I could count on you.”

“Any time snookums,” Tony said cheekily, blowing a kiss. 

“If you’re all done flirting,” Pepper said wryly, “I’m voting for Pride and Prejudice.”

Tony and Stephen looked at one another, a previous conversation running through their minds, then simultaneously burst into laughter.

“You have my vote,” Tony said between wheezes.

“And mine,” Stephen concurred.

The others fell in line soon after.

Tony wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but it had been sometime after the awkward breakfast a la Mr. Collins. He was resting against something snug and warm, a little too firm to be comfortable but too cozy for him to move when he started to pick at the edges of sleep, slipping towards wakefulness without becoming a part of it.

“Do you want help moving him to bed,” someone whispered from above him.

“It’s alright, I shall manage,” another person whispered, and then Tony was being shifted. He let out an unhappy noise, attempting to burrow deeper against the comfy surface. There was the sound of quiet laughter.

“He’s like a limpet,” the first whisperer said fondly.

“Maybe I will take some help after all.”

And then he was being moved by two sets of hands until he felt one pair of arms cradling him, his head lolling until it rested against a shoulder.

“I’ve got it from here.”

“Okay, thanks Strange. See you around.”

There was movement now, and the sound of footsteps, and then Tony could feel himself being lowered onto something soft. The arms tried to withdraw from under him, but he whined and rolled closer to the source of the arms until his face was pressed against a solid chest, hands clutching at soft material. More soft laughter.

“You’re in your room, in bed now, Tony,” the whisper came, sounding amused. “You can let go.”

Tony hummed noncommittally, holding tighter, and the whisperer sighed and gently extracted himself. Tony made an unhappy noise at the loss, and then soft lips brushed against his forehead.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

As he’d expected, Tony was subpoenaed for Obadiah’s trial. It led him to finally doing what he’d been dreading since the news had broken.

“Tony, my boy. I knew you’d come,” Obadiah said jovially, sitting on the hard metal seat like it was a throne, holding the worn black phone to his ear as he peered at Tony through the glass like he was an insect to be dissected. His grin was congenial in a way that was almost taunting, and he wore that bright orange jumpsuit like it was just another business suit and this was just another conversation in the office.

“Obadiah,” Tony greeted in return, careful to keep his expression neutral as he spoke into the grimy black phone and met the cold blue eyes of his almost-murderer.

“How have you been? Things gotten a little crazy for you?” he asked as though they were speaking of nothing more important than a surge in work at the hospital. It was a game, Tony knew, and one that he hadn’t had to play in a very long time. One that Obadiah had much more experience with than him. One that he wasn’t willing to engage in.

“Oh, you know, work’s picked up at the hospital, Howard’s still pestering me about coming back to SI, and my godfather tried to have me murdered. The usual,” Tony said nonchalantly, and Obadiah’s eyes hardened.

“Now, now, Tony, men like you and I don’t go throwing around accusations like that in polite company.”

“I’m not here to be polite. And I’m not a man like you,” Tony spat, then took a deep breath, reigned in his temper and reassumed a neutral mask. Obadiah was watching him more carefully now, like he was a puzzle.

“Why are you here, then? I assumed it was either to gloat or to make sure all my secrets had been ferreted out.” Obadiah sneered. “You always did think you were so much smarter than your father and me, stands to reason that you’d come here to see what you could get me to admit to.”

Tony filed that information away as possible admittance that there were _more_ things Obadiah had done that they hadn’t caught yet. “Well, you assumed wrong,” he said evenly. “I’m not here about what you did to the company. I’m here about what you did to _me_. Because I have a question for you, and I want you to answer honestly so I can have some closure. I think you owe me at least that much.”

Obadiah leaned back in his chair. “Earth’s Mightiest Hero, nothing more than a selfish little brat,” he mocked. “You don’t care about the people who’ve been killed with weapons _you_ designed for us, just what directly affects _you_.”

“Oh, I care about those people,” Tony said, and his voice went a little hoarse. “And I pay my penance every day at the Avengers Hospital. And I know why you did what you did with the weapons – you were greedy, you wanted more money, and you didn’t care who got hurt. It wasn’t personal. But what you did to me? _That_ was personal. And I want to know why.”

Obadiah raised an eyebrow. “Why? Why I paid people off to kill you in Afghanistan?” Obadiah scoffed. “I thought you were smarter than that, boy. The hit was never meant for you, it was meant for your father, so I could – “

“No, I know that,” Tony interrupted, causing Obadiah to look irritated. “What I want to know is why, once you knew that Howard wasn’t going to be the one in Afghanistan, that it was going to be _me_ , why you didn’t call it off?”

And Obadiah just looked at him, almost confused. “Why would I?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely curious. And to Tony, that felt like a knife going through his heart.

“Why would you?” he repeated, almost dully. “I wasn’t the one you were trying to kill, Obadiah.”

“Well, true, but getting you out of the way was something I was always going to have to do down the line anyway. Howard would’ve left his shares to you, so you would’ve had the controlling interest in the company. If I wanted the company to be mine, I’d have still had to get you out of the way. Granted, I’d wanted to get a bit more of your brilliance first, but since the opportunity was there, I just figured – why not?” Obadiah shrugged nonchalantly.

Tony was numb, and he let out a sharp laugh. “Why not?” He laughed again, the sound hard and hurt. “Sure, why not? I’d only looked up to you since I was little. I’d only considered you more of a father to me than Howard. I’d only sought out your approval and tried to make you proud like I could never make Howard. But of course, when it comes down to my life, all the consideration you had for me was _why not_.” Tony didn’t realize how much his voice had risen during his tirade, how he was practically snarling by the end, how the others were turning and looking at them, some of the guards making as if to step in their direction.

Obadiah, for his part, was just looking at him with detached confusion. “Tony, my boy, it was never personal.”

Tony stood, yanking the telephone to the full length of its chain. “Yeah. Clearly, to you, it wasn’t. But it was to me.”

And he walked away.

Tony didn’t know exactly what he was feeling as he left, his emotions a confusing tangle as he made his way to his car. He drove on autopilot, feeling aimless as he tried to sort through his emotional spaghetti – until he realized he was pulling up in front of his parents’ house. He stared up at it for a moment, then took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. Yeah, there was another conversation to be had. He stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

“Master Anthony, what a pleasant surprise!” Jarvis cried as he opened the door, and a real smile was pulled out of Tony as he stepped forward and hugged the man.

“Hey, Jarvis. Is my mother around?” Tony asked, and Jarvis’s eyes were piercing as they took him in. Tony didn’t know what his expression said, but Jarvis nodded once, carefully, then stepped aside to let him in.

“Mistress Stark is upstairs in her reading room. Shall I tell her you’ve arrived?” Jarvis inquired, and Tony just smiled and shook his head.

“Not necessary.” He paused. “Is anyone...else here?”

Jarvis, thankfully, understood what he was really asking. “Master Stark has retired to his chambers for the evening. He should presumably not come out until morning.”

Tony nodded and took a deep breath; even being in the same house as that man was enough to grate at his nerves a little. But he gave Jarvis another quick, genuine smile. “Alright, I’ll just head on up, then.”

“Very good, Master Anthony.”

The walk to the reading room was short, and Tony stood in the entry for a moment, just staring at his mother. She looked younger, here, seated on a cushioned chair, surrounded as she was by pristinely kept books, haloed by her reading light as she held a sharp cover aloft.

“ _The Works of John Dryden_. In the mood for satire, Mama?” Tony asked, and Maria looked up in surprise followed by delight, beaming as she closed her book.

“Antonio. Welcome home,” she said warmly, and Tony crossed the room to give her a hug. He kept ahold of her hands when he sat beside her. “How are you, mio caro?”

“I’m alright, Mama. And you?”

“Just fine,” she assured him, smiling and patting his face gently. “The media circus is nothing new to this family, after all.”

“Of course, but Obie was a family friend for many years,” Tony pointed out. “It must come as a pretty nasty shock.” And _there_ was his invitation to her. For he needed to know – he needed to know how much she’d known. And he needed to know if she was going to try to lie to him.

“Perhaps not as much as it should have been,” Maria said sadly, withdrawing her hand and looking away. “I had a... _feeling_ that that man was not what he seemed.”

“Oh? You never said anything,” Tony said, aiming for casual – but Maria had honed her social skills in the vicious world of high society, and her eyes met his, narrowing.

“What is wrong, Antonio?”

Tony paused, looking away and trying to gather his thoughts, to figure out how to phrase what he was trying to ask. “I want you to tell me what you know. Starting from wherever you feel the beginning is,” Tony said finally, looking back at her and meeting her eyes. She looked at him for a minute, a hint of confusion on her face, but nodded.

“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, honey, but I suppose for me, this begins with your kidnapping.” Maria’s smile turned a bit watery. “Those were the scariest three months of my life, you know? I didn’t know if you were injured or hurting or, god forbid, dead. I dreaded every phone call and every doorbell, terrified they were bringing me news that your body had been found. And then we got you back! I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.” And Maria was beaming through red-rimmed eyes, looking at him like he was precious.

“When you decided to go to medical school, I was secretly relieved, though I would never have told your father. I knew how much he wanted you to follow in his footsteps, but after when you’d been through, I don’t think I could’ve watched you get on a plane to go to some third world country ever again,” Maria’s voice tapered to a whisper as though she was sharing a shameful secret, and Tony squeezed his mother’s hands. “I don’t know why Obadiah did what he did, but I’m so glad that they’ve caught him, and I’m so glad you’re still here to see him meet justice for what he did to you.” Her eyes gleamed fiercely, and Tony allowed himself a small smile at her, before it dropped, his mind not yet at ease.

“Did you know?” he asked quietly, holding her eyes, and her brow furrowed in confusion. “Did you know it was Obadiah who set up the hit on me? Before the news broke, I mean.”

Maria’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth, but Tony wanted to give her more time to _think very carefully_ in case she was considering lying to him, so he plowed on. “Because Dad knew. Dad knew and didn’t say anything. He didn’t say _anything_ , and he tried to lie to me about it.”

Maria’s hand covered her mouth, eyes shining with unshed tears, falling entirely silent. Tony let the silence hang in the air for a moment, heart growing heavier and heavier. “Mama,” he whispered finally. “Did you know?”

A deep, hiccupping breath. “Not until years later.” The words settled like a stone between them, and Tony let it sit there for a minute, weighing it, processing it.

“Did you know that Dad knew even before the plane left for Afghanistan, and he sent me anyway?” he asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. Maria’s eyes widened, one tear fell, glinting, down her cheek. And she kept silent. And Tony had his answer.

He nodded to himself. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” Maria whispered, and Tony laughed, a sharp, ugly sound.

“How? You just _say it_ , that’s how!” He started to yank his hands away, but Maria held on tightly, pulling, tugging, looking at him beseechingly.

“Antonio, _please_! I didn’t find out till years after it had happened, and your relationship with your father was so strained – I-I was _afraid_.”

Tony looked at her dubiously. “Afraid of _what_?”

“ _Of losing you!_ ”

Silence, as Tony looked at his mother who gazed desperately back at him. He waited, and she seemed to realize he wasn’t going to say anything further, so she hastened to explain. “I was afraid if I told you, you’d leave and never come back. I was afraid it would be the last straw, that you’d cut us out of your lives completely. I just – I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, mio caro, I’m so sorry.”

And now she was really crying, tears streaming down her striken face, and Tony couldn’t stand it. He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, Mama,” he whispered, patting her back soothingly. “I would never have abandoned _you_. Not for something _he_ did. I’d have changed how our visits worked, met you somewhere where I didn’t have to see him probably. But I wouldn’t have cut you out of my life.”

Maria sniffled, pulled back, sniffled again, her eyes tentatively hopeful. “And now?”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I need some space,” he admitted, and felt horribly guilty at the way his mother flinched, but he held firm. “I – you lied to me, you let me go into rooms alone with two people who tried to have me murdered and didn’t say anything. I just. I need time to process that.”

Maria started to withdraw, face crumpling, but Tony covered one of her hands with his. “It won’t be forever,” he promised confidently. He already knew he’d forgive her, probably sooner rather than later. “I just – I need a little bit to get my head on straight and come to terms with everything.”

Maria looked at him measuringly, face blotchy and eyes red, but she nodded. “Okay. Okay, mio caro. Whatever you need. Just please – remember I love you, my sweet Antonio. You’re my darling boy, and I love you so much,” she said, voice trembling, and Tony pulled her close, hugged her tightly.

“I know, Mama. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more ironstrange in the next chapter if I have to shove it in there with my bare fucking hands
> 
> which I guess I do, since that's how I type. but you know what I mean.
> 
> the obie/tony talk didn't really do what I had planned. I'd intended it to be long and involve aa lot of discussion into why the fuck obie would turn on tony, someone who was basically his surrogate son, include all the fun father/son angst that we also get from howard, but honestly, obie just refused to give a fuck. he just had a 'eh, i'll eventually take them both out anyway, so why not let it just happen' attitude, so that conversation ended up being way shorter than expected.
> 
> on the other hand, maria unexpectedly had a lot to say. poor maria, she's doing her best :(


End file.
